Till Love Do Us Part
by sunnysoul
Summary: When Xan saves a drow's life, the entire party is doomed. For even an enchanter can't best Viconia's charms. If she isn't seducing males, Viconia is plotting Rasaad's demise. Light will triumph over darkness though, the Sun Soul Monk believes, with people like Imoen and her sister … even if the half-elf has a weird obsession with him being shirtless. Xan x Viconia and PC x Rasaad.
1. 1: Xan

"My wounds are too grave. I'm a dead man. Just… leave me be."

Xan jerked his head away from the blonde half-elf and her putrid-smelling potion. His stomach churned, whether from the stab wound or the thought of the vile concoction before him, he honestly couldn't tell. As he lay on the forest floor, surrounded by ominous tall trees, he wished the earth would crumble beneath him.

"For Corellon's sake, stay still!" the half-elf Arquen snapped, pressing the bottle against his tight lips. She looked up and waved their companions over. "Rasaad, hold him down! This is the only remedy that may help!"

As Rasaad hurried over, she barked at Imoen this time. "Have we no more healing potions? _At all?_"

"Can't find any!" Imoen shot back. Xan turned just in time to see the pink-haired human flipping _his_ backpack upside down, tipping all its contents—including his spellbook and unwashed garments—onto the muddy ground.

Before Xan could shout his protest, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder and his jaw being gripped with the other.

"Relax, my friend. What may seem distasteful now is merely a part of the recovery process," the monk said in his gentle voice and serene expression, which to Xan had always been more creepy than calming. Nobody with the pain threshold to ink tattoos over half his face, should appear so at peace with himself and the world.

Arquen quickly poured the vile liquid into his mouth. It tasted like the gallbladder of an animal mixed with rotten grapefruit. Xan started gagging. Could it possibly poison him instead? The half-elf was neither a cleric nor an alchemist, and he had no idea where she thought up this healing remedy.

Though perhaps poisoning him could end his agony. Pain shot through his entire body again and it took all his willpower to refrain from screaming out loud.

It was unbelievable, simply unbelievable, that he would let a drow be the cause of all this!

He couldn't muster the strength to shoot a glare at her but he knew the drow stood just a few feet away, recovering from her chase across the Peldvale forest. If Xan hadn't intervened, she would surely have been caught by the Flaming Fist mercenary, and most likely executed on the spot. Xan didn't move as quickly as Rasaad though, and while he wielded a moonblade he was certainly no warrior, so the mercenary had stabbed him right in the stomach.

"Is the potion working? Should we give him some more?" Arquen and Rasaad hovered over him, threatening another round of the homemade potion.

"I believe I can help."

It was the drow. She spoke in short breaths and an accented voice. Xan opened his eyes to see her already kneeling down in front of him. Arquen and Rasaad exchanged looks, and everyone realized that they had little choice but to trust the stranger, even if she hailed from the Underdark and a race well-known for slaying surface elves on sight. Rasaad patted his shoulder softly before stepping aside.

The drow bent over him and placed her dark hand on his body, just below the rib cage where he had been stabbed.

The thought of having such a creature touching him made Xan shudder. This was the closest encounter he ever had with a drow, and he had to be at her mercy (of course, knowing his luck, how else could it have turned out?).

She shut her eyes as she concentrated on her chanting. A warm glow cast over his wounds, and moments later the pain subsided. Xan sighed, for once in great relief.

It was the most inappropriate moment to contemplate on such matters then, or perhaps he was slipping into delirium that caused his thoughts to wander so, but Xan found himself strangely entranced by the drow's features. Up close, he noticed that her dark grey skin had a bluish hue. She still kept her pale green hood on, with her face further concealed behind a fall of silvery white hair. He could make out a beauty spot on the left side of her face, just above her lip. Her upturned eyes were the color of amethyst, and she was now staring back at him.

Xan choked back a cough at the realization of admiring a drow.

She frowned at him as if she had read his mind, but said nothing. She ran her hands over his body again and, satisfied with her work of healing, she pulled him up to a sitting position.

The others had gathered in a small circle around them, no doubt eyeing the drow and her cleric abilities with interest.

"My name is Viconia. I–I'm not from around here," she addressed them slowly.

"I know you may not be willing to give me a chance because of my dark skin." She paused with a tensed yet unapologetic expression. "I am a drow, but if you give me a chance you will not regret it. Your darthiir will live as I have been able to heal the worst of the injury, but he will be weak for a few days."

Arquen, their leader (because she started this whole nonsense quest to infiltrate the bandits' camp), stepped forward and extended her hand. "We have completely run out of healing potions. All I have left is this homemade potion I brewed back in Candlekeep. Xan would've been in a lot more trouble if you weren't able to heal him. It looks like we need the extra help, so of course we'll take you in."

The drow smiled. "I won't disappoint you, I promise."

Xan groaned in silence. They might as well send a message to the next village telling everyone to start polishing their pitchforks and stakes. Could their leader be anymore naive as to not know the reputation of drows? Why, just _why_, did he not part ways with them when he had the chance in Nashkel?

"Arquen, I hate to break this to you," her human 'sister' Imoen started, "but there is _no way_ we can make it to the bandits' camp in this state, even with the help of a cleric. We kinda underestimated how many bandits there were, not to mention the bears and the gibberlings and whatever monsters that roam these woods!"

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"Maybe we ought to return to the Friendly Arm Inn? At least until Xan has fully recovered and all. Then, you know, fully prepare ourselves instead of marching off into the wilderness. Maybe… maybe find Jaheira and Khalid?"

Imoen shifted her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably, while Arquen bit down on her lip. Imoen added, "Xan almost died, you know…"

"Okay, okay, point taken! We'll head back to the Friendly Arm!"

Imoen broke into a wide grin and Xan caught her saying something about glorious hot baths under her breath. So much for the concern of him dying, he sighed to himself as he slowly got to his feet.

Everyone gathered their backpacks quickly, mostly repacking the items that Imoen had thrown out in her panic. Xan quickly shoved his clothes into the bottom of the pack before anyone else noticed that none of them were clean. He groaned as he found a few of his carefully packed rations and spell components in the dirt, obviously spoilt now. Then he spent a few minutes dusting the grass stains off his spellbook. The temptation to shout at Imoen was great… _It wasn't deliberate_—_her panic state caused her clumsines_s, he kept telling himself.

When his backpack was back in order, Xan found himself reluctantly handing it to Rasaad. There was a dull ache in his abdomen that made carrying the extra weight uncomfortable. The monk also offered to hold him up, but Arquen quickly stepped in between them. "I'll walk with Xan," she said cheerily. "You are still limping from the last injury, I can tell, so you can't expect to be both pack mule and steed!"

Xan hoped she couldn't sense the heat on his face as she slipped her arm around his waist, her tousled blonde hair rolling down his shoulder. "Can you walk?" she asked.

They took a few steps, and Xan cursed his weakened state under his breath. Although he felt steady enough to stand upright, his legs seemed to be pulled down by weights when he marched. "At a snail's pace, I regret to say," he groaned.

"Even if it takes a day, we'll get there," she replied with her never-ending optimism.

They set off westwards, more or less backtracking through their earlier route. Xan felt himself leaning into the petite half-elf constantly, which also made him feel utterly disgraced. Thankfully, if Arquen was bothered, she didn't show it. Imoen strayed ahead and was out of sight most of the time. In between the march was Rasaad, who glanced back every few minutes to make sure no one was trailing too far behind.

Some time passed when he found the new addition to their party at his side. They walked in silence for awhile, the drow glancing sideways at him and Arquen every so often. Sometimes she would catch his eye and hold his gaze for a moment.

After studying him for awhile, she finally spoke. "It is… curious that an elf would come to my rescue. Why did you save me from that brute?"

Xan sighed impulsively. "You would have been killed by that mercenary otherwise."

"Others would have found the killing of a drow pleasing to watch."

"I am sorry for not abandoning you to your fate."

Viconia stopped in her steps and Xan could feel her gaze bearing into the back of his head as they wandered ahead of her.

Then she caught up with him again and, to his surprise, she reached for his free arm. "Come, Arquen, let me be the one to bear this burden for awhile."

"Oh, it's quite alright, Viconia," Arquen replied good-naturedly. "I'm pretty sure you've had quite an eventful day. I do not feel at all encumbered."

Two women wanting to hold him up on either side was possibly the closest experience to being desirable he would ever have. Xan felt extremely awkward, and completely emasculated. They were now gripping his arms rather tightly, and he felt like a straw compared to Rasaad. At the last inn they stayed in, he'd accidentally overheard Arquen and Imoen discussing the monk's physique, how thrilled they were to discover that there were actually monks "frolicking around shirtless with washboard abdomens and tattoos on the parts of their body where you most want to run your hands over", which made him feel even more insecure about himself. Not that he wanted them to make _him_ a topic for their gossip, but still…

"So, surface elf, how deeply do you object to my presence?" Viconia reminded him of her presence.

Xan didn't answer her straight away. Did she really want him to recount elven history to her? Was she hoping to provoke him into striking her?

"It is pointless to care who is a part of this group or not. In the end we are all doomed." He did however use the opportunity to move his arm away. "You don't have to be here though. I am managing quite well."

"I see you have recovered your senses, as well as prejudices. So it is. I have repaid you for my rescue. I would have gladly left you to suffer and die, were you not my rescuer." She then marched ahead and overtook Rasaad, who turned back, this time with raised brows.

"Xan," Arquen said in a low voice. "I think she meant well. Why did you shrug her off like that?"

"You have little experience with drow, I can tell. Their kind is not to be trusted. It would be wise not to keep her in our company for too long."

"Oh, but she seemed so earnest when she said she won't let us down. Though I have not come across drow before, it is curious that she should be wandering the surface alone, if at all. Perhaps she's not your typical drow?"

"True," Xan replied. "Regardless, I would not be so quick to trust her. You already have assassins to deal with, and the last thing I wish to witness is treachery within our group. I do worry for your safety, Arquen." The last line came out too quickly and Xan coughed. He really, really hoped Arquen wouldn't interpret it the wrong way as she smiled at him.

"That's nice to know, Xan." She gave his arm a little squeeze and they carried on in silence.


	2. 2: Viconia

The Friendly Arm Inn and its open doors were not unknown to Viconia, but she never would have dared approach it on her own. She had heard of its high stone walls and fortified keep, with guards roaming the grounds all hours of the day. Alone, her ebony features would not have made it past the gates without a long interrogation on her reasons for wandering the area, if not her reasons for wandering the surface world at all. As they approached the gates, Viconia kept her head lowered, but in the company of four surfacers, the guards gave them all but a passing glance.

Thus she welcomed the sense of security she felt in her newfound company, something she hadn't experienced for a long, long time. Had she even travelled with a group of surfacers without being enslaved, with the freedom to come and go as she pleased? Added to that was a new experience of naiveté from the two girls, who prattled on about their days ahead openly. What they imagined the streets of Baldur's Gate to look like if they ever got to visit it. Spells they would like to badger out of Xan. How much gold they had left. If Rasaad could outrun a (charging) bear. Their next feast. She honestly didn't know what to make of it as she watched Imoen bouncing up the stone steps leading to the inn, with Arquen dragging a fatigued Xan closely behind and Rasaad now hauling four backpacks.

The sun was just about to set when they stepped into the inn, which housed a handful of travelers. They didn't linger long downstairs at first as everyone was eager to unload their gear and unwind in long-needed hot baths. The night was nearly late when hunger drew all of them—with the exception of Xan, who, according to Rasaad, had a splitting headache—back down to the tavern.

"Do drow eat veal?" Imoen asked as she pushed the basket of bread and mug of mead towards Viconia. They were occupying the table closest to the bar, where they could keep an eye on patrons making lodging arrangements for the night.

"Just like you, anything stupider and slower that can be chewed, are edible," Viconia replied, helping herself to a small bun.

"Oh." The girl ignored the slight and helped herself to the cheese from Rasaad's plate. Either the monk was familiar with her unladylike ways, or he was simply oblivious to it. His undivided attention was on Arquen as the half-elf related the story of how she came about a pair of golden pantaloons from the third floor.

"I mean, do I even _look_ like the laundry service to you?" she asked him with a fierce expression, pointing at her face.

"No, of course not. You would need to be wearing a servant's outfit," the monk said, without realizing that he also meant her facial features _could_ pass for the laundry service. He also didn't realize she was now looking at him with dagger eyes. _That's one step closer to the grave for him, _Viconia observed in amusement.

"How did you end up in the noble's room in the first place?" Rasaad asked.

"She forgot where our room was, obviously," Imoen cut in, and sniggered as she skillfully avoided a slap on the hand.

Arquen left the conversation at that, and went back to her meal, tearing at her bread rather savagely now. A few minutes later, she looked up to survey the crowd around them, then frowned to herself. She kept doing this every few minutes.

"Looking for someone?" Viconia decided to ask.

"Yes. Some ... old friends," Arquen said slowly.

"Bentley says they pop by every other tenday or so," Imoen added.

"Are we to wait until these friends show up? And if they do not?"

The frown deepened. Viconia figured that their next step would depend on the arms and counsel of these "friends". The party's venture into Peldvale on their own sounded like they had, in retrospect, taken a step backwards, with many a day and effort gone to waste.

Rasaad joined in the conversation to say, "Perhaps it was unwise of us to go our separate ways."

Viconia could see the half-elf's eyes starting to twitch. Failing to appeal to vanity and now pointing out a mistake (that goes without saying)? _Another step closer to the grave._

Although the two girls were very much alike in their manners, Imoen came across as the only one who was unceasingly chipper. Whilst Imoen would giggle and not take it to heart, Arquen's face would darken noticeably whenever she didn't hear the right answer to a query, like now.

How amusing it was, that the monk had spent more weeks in her company, and had yet to understand her temperament.

"Jaheira and Khalid's counsel has never failed to steer us back to the right path," he continued innocently.

_That was the last step, _Viconia thought. _He'll be pushing daisies in the morning._

Arquen threw down her table knife so hard that it impaled itself into a potato. She folded her arms – slowly, for effect – and shot a death glare at Rasaad. This time it didn't go unnoticed.

"Did I just say something wrong?" The monk looked genuinely alarmed. His eyes darted over to Imoen for help and the other human answered him by sliding her finger from one side of her neck to the other.

"No-o. Thank you for pointing out my failed leadership, that's all," Arquen said sarcastically.

"Have I offended you? I'm truly sorry if I have..."

"Hmm, let's see ... Xan's doom-saying, or your penchant for stating the obvious—I'm simply torn between the two."

"I … I," the poor boy fumbled. "I don't know what to say."

"Why don't you get out of my sight?"

"My turn this time to tell you to take it easy on others," Imoen told her sister as they watched the monk make his retreat as per suggestion. "He has always been so sweet, you know. Not to mention, all he did was merely point out his _dead-on_ observations."

"Sorry, Immy. It's just so frustrating sometimes. Clearly the boys aren't idiots. But somehow they just manage to say all the wrong things at the wrong time." She massaged her temples and closed her eyes. "I _know_ we made a mistake splitting up with Jaheira and Khalid. I don't need anyone highlighting it! Gods, was Xan banging on and on and on about it the whole. Entire. Day!"

"For what it's worth, I think you handled the monk quite well. You need to remind the men that there is no room for insolence from those of lesser status," Viconia felt compelled to say. No incident was too minor or petty to let slide. With some guidance, she believed the half-elf could benefit from the ways of the drow, along with the inviolability of Shar.

Arquen chuckled. "That's an interesting perspective." She drank the last of her mead. "To answer your earlier question, I guess we'll wait. Hopefully they'll show up in the next few days."

The half-elf leaned back in her seat, watching the tavern activities again as if expecting her friends to appear that very night instead. There was much sound of flagons and tankards banging on tabletops, but solitary travelers made up most of the crowd. Not even merchants with coin aplenty, Viconia noted. These were people stopping only for the night, with little desire for chatting.

Not Imoen though, who cleared her throat audibly. "Sooo … how did ya end up on the surface? Aren't drow adverse to sunlight? How do you deal with the sunburn?"

Viconia turned to the inquisitive girl. "The sun is most certainly a nuisance. I cannot comprehend how surfacers put up with the summer's heat year upon year. It pains the eyes and causes even more dizziness than insipid conversation."

"Sooo what makes you stay?"

"If you must insist on being so intrusive, I am an exile amongst my people."

"Ohh, what happened?"

"I failed to sacrifice a babe. Perhaps I would have carried it out willingly, if I had known how inhospitable life on the surface would be."

Imoen's eyes grew to the size of saucers just then. She shot her sister a worried look. Arquen maintained a stoic expression, however, not showing approval or objection.

She appeared to simply accept the fact that their mismatched party members come from very different circumstances and upbringing.

"As long as you don't slit our necks in our bedrolls, I do not object to you traveling with us," the half-elf finally said as she stood up.

Imoen and Viconia pushed their seats back as they left their table, and followed her upstairs without exchanging another word.

* * *

><p>A proper bed after … how long ago has it been? She, Viconia, had a proper bed to lie in, one she didn't have to pay a foul-smelling man for with her flesh. It was a promising start to a new day on the surface.<p>

Viconia stared up at the ceiling, appreciating the barrier that reined in the otherwise boundless sky. Her sleep had been uninterrupted throughout the night. No worrying about attackers emerging from the shadows. A thick, dry blanket that didn't smell of the forest.

The two sisters' beds sat on the other side of the room, a common table and chairs separating Viconia from them. She could see Imoen still dead to the world, with her blanket wrapped snugly around her and a serene smile on her face. Arquen on the hand was already up, braiding parts of her blonde hair.

Viconia decided to rise as well.

The half-elf greeted her with a warm smile. "Did you sleep, I mean, reverie well?" she asked, combing her fingers through her tousled blonde hair to find another section to braid.

"I slept well."

"Don't drow go into reverie like surface elves?"

"Mostly they do, but I have too many … recollections that plague my thoughts, that have caused my recent reveries to be more unsettling than restful." She surprised herself for actually telling the truth, but that was all she would tell the half-elf, just in case.

"I see."

Instead of probing further, Arquen left Viconia to tend to her morning routine. Another reason why she found the half-elf's company more bearable than the others – she knew when to be mute.

When she spoke again, she said, "I don't think Imoen will be awake anytime soon. What say we head outside for some fresh air?"

Outside, the morning air was crisp and chill, overridden with clouds that held back the arrival of the sun. Only one guard stood on duty in the front compound, and he too looked half-awake.

Nearby, they could hear the sounds of wood being dragged across the ground.

"Rasaad's awake," Arquen said with an eager smile, last night's conversation seemingly forgotten.

By the high stone wall, they found the monk busy stacking discarded planks and barrels. With his shirt off, his muscular frame showed off the intricate set of tattoos that ran across his chest and down his arms. They decided not to draw his attention just yet. Instead they stood some distance away and watched him at work.

Upon having a considerable pile of wood, Rasaad stepped back and took a few deep breaths. Then in one mighty blow, he punched through the pile from top to bottom and split the pile clean apart in the middle.

Arquen clapped in great admiration.

Noticing his audience, the monk walked over with a sheepish look. "Good morning, Arquen, Viconia."

"That was most impressive!" Arquen said loudly, her voice in a noticeably higher pitch.

Viconia could see the half-elf's eyes roaming over the monk's tattoo-covered chest. She couldn't blame her for doing so. Sweat glistened on the monk's handsome face and body. If he had showed off this display of strength any later in the day, he would have attracted a crowd of swooning female bystanders.

Rasaad raised an arm to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand, treating them to a view of his toned triceps. On his upper arm, the tattoos weaved around a symbolic circle with lines pointed in the four directions. Along with the pendant resting on his bare chest, it marked his worship of Selune. _The pathetic Moonmaiden,_ to Viconia, and served as a reminder to the drow that the moon-monk, despite his impressive form, was an enemy to the secrets of Shar.

Befitting a follower of the weak goddess, he spoke depreciatively of himself the night before. "Arquen, I ... I think I offended you greatly last night. I don't actually know what I did wrong, but I just want to say I'm sorry if I did anything that caused you any unpleasantness."

"What oh that I've already forgotten all about that don't worry about it!" was the squeaky reply.

"I am glad to hear that." The monk smiled in relief. He put on his shirt, which had the effect of snapping Arquen out of his so-called inherent charm spell. She wiped the silly grin off her face and inquired about Xan.

"Last night Xan mentioned that he might be developing a terrible cough. He believes it to be hemoptysis."

"In order words, he's back to his normal self and doing fabulously?" Arquen said with a smile.

It took a moment for Rasaad to catch on, and he chuckled. "Ah, I believe so, yes."

Though the half-elf's humour didn't elude her as easily as it did Rasaad, Viconia still raised a brow, curious about the surface elf she would have to travel with for days to come.

"That's how Xan is," Arquen explained. "He has already written an obituary note for each one of us. Rasaad's one says he will be mauled to death for punching a dire werewolf."

Though she had another grin on her face, the monk stared at her with his mouth open. "You are telling a joke ... yes?" he asked with a somewhat horrified look.

Viconia could only shake her head in pity. Arquen sighed in silent defeat.

"Despite how he may appear, I'm pretty certain the mage is no soothsayer. Now then, breakfast, anyone?"

* * *

><p>"I suppose it is my duty to check on the wounded," Viconia said after finishing her sop and broth, interrupting the silence that had befell the table. Somewhere between their last few mouthfuls and the question of "So what are we going to do today?", the conversation died.<p>

"Mm hmm," Arquen replied distractedly as she gazed in the direction of the bar with half-closed eyes. She rested her chin on one hand, drumming her fingers softly on the table with the other. There was the gnome proprietor tending the bar, but Viconia was pretty certain the half-elf wasn't actually interested his method of wiping the counter with his dishcloth.

"Rasaad, if you're done, why don't you take her to Xan, then fetch Imoen?" she suggested without bothering to look his way.

The monk, who had been staring into his empty cup for the last fifteen minutes, snapped out of his own grim expression. "Certainly," he said.

He led the way to the second floor, bounding up the stairs two steps at a time, yet soundlessly and with the grace of a cat. _The few talents imparted by Selune_, Viconia thought as she tried to keep up with him. Other than his athletics, she found the man rather dim-witted. Even the ability to mope seemed above him.

The room was the second furthest from the landing. It was much smaller than what the women had, decorated with a chest of drawers and an empty bookshelf. Inside, Xan sat on one of the beds with his knees up, resting a thick book on his lap. Resting close to him against the side of the bed was his moonblade.

When he saw Viconia, he shut the book and sighed audibly.

"Is there something you need, Viconia?" he said, flipping his legs over the edge of the bed.

"You were absent last night and also this morning. One simply wonders if your delicate condition has anything to do with it."

"I'm not dying. Not yet anyway. You needn't trouble yourself."

Rasaad started towards the door. "I am going to fetch Imoen now."

"Yes, go fetch. Ever the good dog, you are," Viconia remarked. She was hoping to hear a comeback but the monk merely shut the door behind him gently.

"Leave the hapless boy alone," Xan told her, letting out a cough.

"Your roommate mentioned you have developed a terrible cough."

"Please don't call him that. Yes, ever since that day. Likely due to some acidic component in Arquen's potion that has razed my throat. Corellon knows what was in it!" He cleared his throat and exhaled loudly.

Viconia alarmed him first by sitting down next to him on the bed without asking, or warning him. Then she reached for his throat. A look of trepidation washed over the elf's face, and he attempted to grab her wrist, until her quick spell cleared the soreness he had.

Xan ran his fingers over his throat and closed his eyes. "It's actually better now."

"Now, as for your wound, do you still feel it?"

"Just some dull, but persistent aching. I suppose it's worse if I laughed, so I'm grateful that I never do."

"I shall have a look then."

"Well, it's—" The elf looked around him as if there was some other way to do it, then sighed and, very hesitantly, pulled up his tunic.

"It's much easier if you lie down."

Xan muttered something in elvish that sounded like a curse. Once more, he looked around the room for an alternative, and failing to find one again, he slowly placed his feet back onto the bed, then placed his hands stiffly by his sides. She could tell, with great amusement, how _very_ uncomfortable he was.

Viconia tugged his tunic up high nonchalantly, revealing his bony ribs and a reddish welt that had formed where the wound used to be. Not unexpected, she thought, but she could also tell that he had been picking at it. She ran a minor healing spell over the welt and the angry color faded.

"We are done," she told him.

The elf jumped to his feet and smoothed his tunic down hastily. Sweat had formed on his forehead in those few minutes, even though the room was not at all warm.

Viconia remained sat on his bed. His manners reminded her so much of the humans who had shared her bed. After their exertions, during which they participated wholeheartedly, they nearly always leapt out of the sheets, as if they had just sullied themselves to a point of no return. Oh, she couldn't _not_ comment.

"Coward. I wasn't about to spill your innards, if you wish to know."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Furthermore, I stumbled across your monk shirtless and bathed in sweat this morning, so you needn't worry about what your bare physique would do for me."

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I WAS THINKING!"

"If you say so." She gave him her sweetest smile.

He let out the same elvish swear words again. He also looked like he was going to claw his eyes out with his thumb and finger.

"Did – did Arquen mentioned if we were leaving today?" he said, changing the subject.

"No. She waits for your former comrades."

He sighed. "I see. Well, thank you for your _magnanimity._ I'd like to go back to my reading now, so could you _please_ leave me alone?"

Viconia stood up. Slowly, she moved towards him until their toes were nearly touching. She peered into his eyes—they were deep blue, and very intense as he matched her own iciness with a scowl. She moved her hand as if to grab his throat again.

His hand reached for the moonblade by the side of the bed.

"As you wish," she went back to the demure expression.

She took a step back before turning to face the door. She didn't have to look over her shoulder to know that the elf was glaring at her with pure loathing.

* * *

><p>Viconia didn't expect to have another encounter the elf again so soon, but that evening, just when she stepped into the tavern with the girls, she spotted the familiar faces of two Calishite guards she thought she would never see again.<p>

_What are they doing so far north?_ she wondered to herself, lowering her head but keeping an eye on the two humans, who seemed content to linger at the bar with their drink. It had been two years since she fled north to Amn, hoping to leave her first memories of the surface behind her. She had travelled with a Calishite caravan, spending considerable time not just as the owner's pleasure slave, but those two guards also had their share of ravaging her flesh, their first, and perhaps only, with a drow. Such memories could not be removed so easily, even more so with the caravan owner's untimely demise.

Viconia had been named the only suspect for the caravan owner's death, though the portly human died from a natural heart attack. The guards launched a hunt for her in the name of revenge, but she knew they also wanted to silence her from ever telling anyone else of the nights they sought, and desired, her.

"Oh look, our favourite seats have been reserved specially for us!" Imoen announced as she dragged a chair loudly at the same table they occupied the night before, which caused the guards to glance their way.

Viconia hissed under her breath, hoping the girls would converse with a bit more civility and less volume tonight.

But it was not to be. Even worse, Imoen decided to pick Rasaad as her target for dinner conversation as soon as he entered the tavern and called out, "Hey, Calishite monk! I really wanna ask you something about the Calim Desert! Ever rode a camel?"

The two men looked their way again, first at the monk for being a fellow Calishite, then at the three women he managed to acquire in his company. When their eyes roamed over to Viconia, one of them squinted as the other cocked his head slightly to the side to try and make out her features under her hood. The last thing Viconia wanted was a confrontation, and if their memory of her served, a confrontation would not be easy to avoid.

"I shall leave you to dine alone tonight," she hissed, tightening her hood as she stood up.

"But I thought you said you were starving?" Arquen declared. Viconia didn't answer the half-elf as she slipped away from the table.

Situations like this happened much too often! She fumed to herself as she quickly ascended the stairs. Always, in busy places where crowds of surfacers would gather, she had to be wary of the people she had known, and who knew her. Her grumbling stomach didn't help her sour mood. When she got to the room, she decided kick the door before fishing out her key.

To her surprise, the door was unlocked, and she found Xan at the centre of everything.

"What are you doing here?" Viconia snapped.

The elf held up a dagger with intricate leaf motifs on its hilt. "This dagger would suit a rogue very well, especially when coated in poison. Its curved blade would cause devastating wounds indeed," he mumbled. He put it back on the table and picked up a jade ring next, rolling it in between his fingers, frowning at it. "This ring is definitely magical but I have yet to discover its exact enchantments."

"Are you saying you are in here to steal valuables from the women?"

Xan sighed deeply. "I was asked to appraise some of the items we have picked up along our journeys. I thought I should do it in the evening, when Imoen wouldn't bother—I mean, when there is little distraction. Is it very late?"

"Not at all ... the crowd is only just gathering downstairs."

"Then what are _you_ doing here?" He threw the question back at her.

Viconia didn't answer him immediately. Instead she went over to her backpack and rummaged through it. Imoen had given her a small bag of biscuits during their journey to the Friendly Arm Inn and she was hoping to find some leftovers.

There were none. She wondered if it would've crossed Arquen and Imoen's minds to send her food. But then she didn't say anything to them when she bolted from their table.

Stupid brutes! Would mercenaries never give her a moment's peace?

She looked up to see Xan with his arms crossed, still waiting for an answer.

"I happen to recognize some mercenaries and I do not wish to be acquainted with them again."

He raised an eyebrow, then picked up a wine glass in front of him. Viconia looked closer at the mess on the table and saw that, amongst the pile of weapons, scrolls, trinkets and miscellaneous items, were a loaf of bread, serving of stew, fruit and half a cheese wheel being used as paperweight. She would have derided him over the mess if it wasn't making her mouth water so.

She was still eyeing the food as Xan broke the bread apart with his long fingers. He placed a generous piece onto a wooden plate and pushed it away from him.

"I assume you didn't get the chance to eat," he said to her.

Surprised as she was with the thoughtfulness from the petulant elf, she took the chair to his side. Xan pushed the bowl of stew towards her as well as the cheese.

They ate in silence for awhile, and Viconia found her eyes fixed on the enchanter, observing the mechanical way he ate and how he sorted his food into neat, mouthful portions. His eyes were on his food but his thoughts appeared miles away. Could he be reflecting on her visit to his room this morning, and how she teased him before she left? She couldn't really tell what was going on behind that perfect mask of boredom.

"Have you been living in the wilderness since you arrived at Amn?" Xan broke the silence.

"Apart from perhaps a few hours' venture into farmlands and towns, it must have been at least five full seasons now."

"It is ... uncommon for a drow to be wandering the surface for so long, especially on their own," he said carefully.

"That is true."

"Imoen mentioned you have been exiled by the drow."

Viconia cocked an eyebrow as she wondered when Imoen had the chance to actually speak with Xan. They retired together the night before after Viconia mentioned her exile. The girl didn't wake up until her sister told—nay, ordered—Rasaad to pour cold water on her just before noon. All three women had been together after that for the entire day, mostly idling about in their room. When did she actually come in contact with Xan? Or, did she tell the monk, who then passed on the information to the elf? Nobody would ever peg that one as a gossipmonger though. Or was it Arquen who spread the story?

"You have no business to know, elf," Viconia said sharply, annoyed at not being able to figure out how fast gossip travelled within the group.

The elf went still for a moment.

"My apologies for asking," he muttered.

He pushed all the food towards her and turned his attention back to the jade ring, acting as if she was no longer present in the room. He circled the ring between his fingers again, then inspected the inner band for some form of inscription.

Viconia polished the rest of the food from the plate. Although they didn't speak again, she soon felt strangely relaxed in the elf's company. It was … what was the common word for it? It was a comforting feeling, and even though surface elves and drow were mortal enemies, she didn't feel threatened by Xan. She wondered if it was the wine from his glass – he'd push it across the table to her as well since it came with the single meal serving. She was even content to simply watch him examine items, occasionally scribbling notes on pieces of paper, including one that curiously read:

_Dear Arquen and Imoen,_

_You may use this ring to aid you in battle against wilderness beasts once a day. _

_PS: Do __**not**__ cast any charges from this ring on Rasaad._

She hid an amused smile. Even on paper, the elf nagged at the youngsters.

Not long after, Viconia heard their loud chatter approaching before the two girls skipped into the room. They glanced at the food and loot clutter on the table, but otherwise seemed unconcerned over why Viconia had fled from the tavern earlier.

"Need more candlelight?" Arquen even remarked, and shifted her attention to her things quickly before Xan and Viconia could shoot her a look.

Xan went back to examining another ring, whilst Viconia watched the girls with intrigue. She was no rogue, but she could tell that their nimble hands were fishing around for something specific from the half-elf's backpack, which they then quickly concealed up their sleeves.

Hardly five minutes later, they headed for the door again.

"Where are you going?" Xan slapped the ring on the table and barked just as Arquen placed her hand on the doorknob.

"Back downstairs," the half-elf paused to answer.

"Is Rasaad waiting for you?"

"Of course not! It's bedtime soon for him, you know, and all the other little children." The girls squealed with laughter before running off without another word.

Xan stared after them with a deep frown on his face. He glanced at their side of the room and narrowed in on Arquen's half-open backpack. He turned back to flip through the scrolls and trinkets on the table. "They couldn't have …" His sentence trailed off. With a loud sigh, he pushed back his chair and hurried away.

Thus Viconia was left alone in the room. Not keen to pursue the group downstairs in case the Calishite guards were still about, she decided to turn her attention to the weapons and trinkets that Xan had been studying.

There were assorted daggers, all of masterwork quality that could fetch a decent price if they were not put to use. A small pouch containing gemstones and jewelry. She picked up an obsidian ring to admire its glassy black stone with a golden sheen. A couple of rings had been set aside from the others. When Viconia touched them, she could sense their magical properties, but knew not what they were.

After perusing all the other items and finding nothing else of interest, she picked up the obsidian ring again.

She was holding it up at eye level for a closer inspection when a loud explosion occurred outside. A burst of white light flashed across the high window in front of her. Startled, she dropped the ring on the floor.

_What in the world was that?!_

She stood and stared hard out the window, listening intently for sounds of battle or altercation. There were none. Could it be just her imagination then, or some bizarre surface phenomenon? She retrieved the ring from the floor and placed it back in the pouch.

The door burst open a few minutes later.

Xan dragged both the girls into the room roughly, keeping an iron grip on Imoen's arm with one hand and the back of Arquen's collar on the other.

"Ow! You're hurting me!" Imoen whined, desperately trying to wriggle her arm away. For a mage and someone as skinny as he was, he was surprisingly strong.

"It would've hurt a lot more if the bolt had shot you in the face!" Xan said through gritted teeth before he finally let go of her. Imoen clutched her arm and squirmed in her boots, looking guiltily at the floor.

He turned to Arquen next. "Being the supposed wiser of the two of you, I am thoroughly appalled by your recklessness! How many times have I told you _not_ to experiment with magic you do not understand?"

Arquen's expression, unlike Imoen, was cold. "How are we ever going to learn new spells when you refuse to teach us anything?"

"How am I supposed to teach you anything new when you do not even put in the effort to mastering the basic cantrips?" the elf scolded. "I cannot believe how you just turned an illusion of dancing lights into a bolt of lightning!"

"Well, at least we have talent, unlike some senile wizard who doesn't even cast magic missiles!" the half-elf snapped. "What's the worst that can happen anyway?"

Xan turned a shade of purple. "YOU ALMOST ELECTROCUTED A PRIESTESS WHOSE HUSBAND HAPPENS TO OWN THE FRIENDLY ARM INN! I had to wipe out her memory of the incident _and_ the memory of four guards!"

He launched into a verbal assault. "Suppose Imoen got hurt? Suppose you had indeed struck her in the face, and disfigured her for life?

"It's one thing to be reckless but do you even pause for a moment to consider the others around you? Are you truly that selfish? How many more people have to die because of you?

"Is Gorion's death not enough?!"

Viconia was shocked to see the sudden stream of tears flooding down the half-elf's face at the last sentence. Arquen let out a loud sob and turned away from Xan. Imoen tried to put her arms around her sister, tears starting to pool in her own eyes, but Arquen pushed passed her roughly to get to the other side of the room. She slid on the floor and leaned a shoulder against the wall, burying her face in her knees.

Xan cursed in elvish, but his face softened considerably.

"Viconia?"

Viconia sat up at the sound of her name.

"I need you and Imoen to give us a moment alone."

Viconia decided it was unwise to anger the elf any further, so she followed Imoen out of the room.

Outside, she took a seat at the settee as Imoen paced the common sitting area nervously. "Arquen's really upset this time," she said quietly, for once looking grim.

"So is the elf, it would appear," Viconia added.

"Yeah, he's livid. I've never seen him so mad since we poured syrup into his boots. She's gonna feel so awful for letting him down." The girl looked in the direction of their room. They could hear muffled voices, but couldn't make out the words. "She holds him in such high regard, you know."

"I would be curious as to why."

"The magic skills he possesses is kinda like Gorion's, our foster father. Brilliant and all. We'd love to do what he does, hence the experiments," Imoen said. She shrugged and exhaled heavily. "We didn't really mean to screw up. We were just hoping to figure some stuff out on our own and, well, just make him go 'wow!' "

Imoen paced the sitting area again, glancing over at the door every other minute. After awhile, she decided to creep over to the door and press her ear against it.

As if on cue, Xan opened the door, and Imoen practically fell into his arms.

"Xan! I'm so, so sorry!" she said in a whimper, tugging the front of his tunic. "Are you still mad? Have you forgiven us? Do you still like us?"

The elf groaned, trying to bat the girl away.

"I would like to warn you not to do this again, but what would be the point?" he grumbled. "You should go to Arquen," he gestured to the room with his head.

Imoen gave him a quick but tight hug—making the elf grunt awkwardly—and disappeared into the room.

The elf went over to the armchair next to Viconia and sat down hard in it. He leaned forwards and pinched the insides of his eyes, muttering under his breath. His body was trembling.

"All done with the counseling session?" Viconia asked.

He looked up at her with tired eyes. "Yes, for the next couple of days. I am fairly certain tonight's reproof would be conveniently forgotten after that, and another session would be due again."

Once more, Viconia couldn't help pondering over the mismatched races, the personality clashes between the hyperactive females and dull males, and the absolute failed logic of friendship and loyalty to such dysfunctional companions.

"My mind burns with this question – what is an elf doing in the company of two humans and a mongrel two hundred years younger than yourself? Isn't it tantamount to running an elven nursery field trip?"

Xan sighed deeply, as if seriously considering the matter. "Conscience, maybe?" he said. "Abandoning them seems almost cruel, like watching a little child drowning in a lake, and walking away because I didn't want to be late for a lunch appointment."

"I would, if it hassles me so."

"That would be wishing you were left to slaughter."

He narrowed his eyes at her. She rolled her eyes at him in retaliation.

His glare disappeared when he flinched and sucked his teeth. Holding out his right hand, he unroll a kerchief that he had tied around it. Only then did Viconia notice that there was a raw and ugly streak of red on his palm running all the way down to his wrist.

"You are wounded! _Again!_" she couldn't help exclaiming.

She grabbed his arm to inspect the wound closer. The skin around it looked very tender. It was an awful burn, one that must've caused the elf a tremendous amount of pain. How did he even manage to keep quiet about it for so long?

"I didn't manage to cast anything to deflect the bolt in time. It was headed straight for Imoen's face," the elf explained. He flinched again and stiffened all his fingers. "Oh, fie! It is like holding a branding iron!"

Viconia casted her third healing spell on him that day.

Xan sighed in relief as the tender flesh on his palm and wrist went back to its normal appearance. Viconia traced her finger over his palm, looking out for any reaction to pain that would mean he required more healing.

"I deeply apologize for making this a habit," he said with another sigh, this time of embarrassment.

"It appears likelier that you would die from a foolish, self-inflicted injury than in battle against your enemies."

"I fear you are right. The only person I haven't suffered an injury from is Rasaad."

The elf paused for a moment. "Come to think of it, it has happened before."

"The moon-child actually wounded you out of jest?"

"Technically it was Imoen's fault. I was standing in front of Rasaad when, for reasons compelling only to her warped mind, she _had_ to find out if he was ticklish in the sides."

He recalled the memory with a grimace. "Turns out he was. He was also greatly startled when she jumped him from behind, and flung a fist in my direction. I had a black eye for five days."

For some reason, Viconia felt like giving the girls a good slap across the face. If only to stop them endangering everyone's lives. In particular, hers, and Xan's. Why Xan's, she wasn't exactly sure. Even if he hadn't reminded her of it, she would always remember how he saved her life. _An elf_ saving her life by putting his own in peril. She would only tell him the contrary, but in truth she felt indebted.

She looked down again at his hand, still bothered by how ugly the burn had looked. And realized she was cradling it.

She let go of his hand quickly.

The elf didn't react and this time, he didn't appear unnerved by her touch, nor did he ask her to leave his presence immediately. In fact, what he really appeared to be was exhausted as he sank back into his seat. There was a heavier burden he was carrying, something that could make him block out physical pain, and people from getting too close.

Viconia was determined to find out what it was.


	3. 3: Rasaad

_NOTES: Using some Rasaad-Viconia-Charname dialogue verbatim from BG1:EE. Oh, Rasaad was the NPC who inspired this fanfiction, since he's new to the series and I couldn't find __much smut—I mean__ many stories between the new and old NPCs. Hope you're enjoying this so far. _

* * *

><p>The daily life of a Sun Soul Monk began before dawn in order to welcome the first light of the day as well as to develop a life of discipline. Each day began with a half-hour meditation, which was also the most effective one of the day thanks to a fresh mind and body. Spiritual nourishment, Rasaad believed wholeheartedly, was just as important as eating a hearty meal.<p>

He awoke that morning, however, to the peculiar sight of Xan packing in such a hurry that he was using his foot to cram his spellbook into his overflowing backpack whilst tugging at the flap. After many nights of sharing a room with the elf whenever they stayed at inns, Rasaad had become familiar with the elf's very-late night reveries. Xan's habit of reading books and studying his magic deep into the night usually resulted in him only arising from reverie at sunrise.

"Gather your things!" Xan barked the moment he saw Rasaad sitting up in bed. "We're leaving now!"

Before Rasaad could wipe the sleep from his eye, the elf had already left the room, slamming the door behind him. He couldn't figure out a reason for the sudden sense of urgency, but he shaved as quickly as possible and grabbed his backpack, ninjato and the wakizashi Arquen had gifted to him from the floor. Unlike the others, he owned very few possessions and he always kept everything packed in order, even when he was tasked with carrying the spare heavy armors and weapons.

Downstairs at the tavern, he was surprised to see all the women prepared for the road. Especially Imoen, who normally didn't emerge from her room until the morning nearly over if they were staying at an inn. But here she was, leaning against the table with a hand over her backpack, all ready to go.

"Nursing a hangover, moon-child?" Viconia asked as he joined the group.

"I do not drink any substances that may harm my senses," Rasaad told her. Never had, never would.

"Why, I never would have guessed." The drow rolled her eyes at him.

Her remark troubled him. Seriously, did he give her the impression that he was a drunkard? Perhaps he should to stop lingering in taverns after nine o'clock at night, if that would set a better example.

Over at the bar, Arquen and Xan were speaking to Bentley. "Very well. I shall hand this note to the Harpers if they stop over," Bentley was saying as he tucked Arquen's note into his pocket.

"I don't blame you for not sticking around. Just when you thought the iron crisis was bad, there is foul magic about," he continued, shaking his head. "Last night, my missus came upon three shadow creatures of sorts. Don't know where they came from nor where into the darkness they fled, but they managed to elude the guards and infiltrate the temple, they did.

"My poor, dear Gellana," the gnome wiped a tear from his eye, "she remains in bed this morning with poor health. If not for Garl Glittergold, she could've met with a crueler fate."

Rasaad listened with interest. That could be related to what he heard last night! He had been meditating when he thought he heard the sound of a single thunder clap. He had thought it strange that it occurred on such a clear night, and that a storm did not follow.

"I WILL KILL THOSE BASTARDS FOR WHAT THEY DID TO MY WIFE!" Bentley declared, slamming his fists on the counter so hard that a wine bottle toppled over and smashed on the floor.

Xan coughed as he stepped away from the broken glass and growing puddle of spilt wine. "We best be on our way," he said to Bentley, and gave Arquen a hard push towards the direction of the door.

"Shouldn't we stay to investigate this matter and provide some assistance?" Rasaad tried to stop the elf by placing a hand on his shoulder.

"No!" Xan said sharply, jerking Rasaad's hand away and raising a finger at him like reprimanding an offending puppy. Which meant any interference into the affairs of the Friendly Arm Inn was strictly out of the question.

In that askance manner, they left the inn and headed south.

"To Beregost," according to Imoen, but she didn't explain why they were going there, even when he asked. Rasaad thought she was uncharacteristically quiet that morning as he strolled at the back of the group with her. Usually she had plenty to say to him, and he mostly enjoyed her lively chatter (except when he was meditating), but today she walked with her head lowered, eyes fixed on the road.

He looked ahead to see the hooded Viconia several feet in front of Xan. Almost a great distance away was Arquen, who, if she moved any faster, she would have to break into a jog. Another strange sight, as normally he would be the person at the front. Thanks to the Sun Soul Order's training, he was accustomed to walking in big strides and moving swiftly. Marching didn't tire him as much as the others, so he usually scouted ahead in the shadows to keep an eye out for any impending danger, after which he would retreat to the back of the group to do a headcount (occasionally the girls would stray, to pick flowers for instance, or chase a squirrel for a mile or two, and he would have to go in search of them), then head back to the front, and so forth.

He decided to leave Imoen's side to go to her sister instead. Arquen was fast becoming a good friend to him. It troubled him that something might be amiss. Of course he was fully aware that the murder of her foster father loomed over her head in the same way he would always be haunted by Gamaz's death, but there were also the everyday setbacks that he wished for her to avoid. Broken bones from battle, shouting matches, getting drunk, stubbing one's big toe on the foot of the bed ... he always tried his best to prevent such things, and when things did go wrong, to make them right again.

Arquen didn't look up when he fell into step with her, but she did mutter a "hullo". He walked by her side in quiet contemplation for some time. The sun was starting to bathe them with its magnificent rays, the sky so bright in bursts of yellow that they couldn't make out the clouds. He admired the distant horizon where the sky met the lush landscape, and the road that stretched for miles ahead of them.

"It is a lovely day," he started by way of coaxing a conversation out of her.

"It is an extremely hot day," Arquen responded. She raised a hand to shield her eyes.

"As a Sun Soul Monk, I believe that a small fragment of the sun's divine essence resides within me, together with the light of Selune."

Arquen let out a little groan and started fanning herself with her hands. "Could you go easy on the sunshine stories? Maybe tell me something about snowstorms and icy winds instead?"

No allegory involving winter came to his mind, but he thought about his meditations last night, which didn't overly feature the sun.

"Do you ever stop to contemplate the moonlight reflected on water?" he asked her.

"Is this a riddle or something?"

"It's sort of a riddle, for the moon sheds no light on its own," Rasaad explained, happy that he managed to pique her interest as her brisk walk slowed to a more leisurely pace. "What we see as moonlight first came from the sun. From the moon it reflects again off the water before it reaches us."

"You're starting to sound more like an astronomer than a monk," Arquen said with a smile. Rasaad didn't know why, a smile was a smile was a smile after all, but when it was the upturned corners of _her_ lips and the flash of _her_ teeth on _her_ angular face, he could feel his pulse quickening. And it made him want to speak to her about _everything _he was passionate about _– _whether it was Selune or Sun Soul philosophy or the deconstruction of war and peace or the phenomenology of the spirit.

"My training at the Sun Soul monastery included much stargazing. Observing the motion of the moon, the shards, and the stars helped me understand that light connects us all," he told her with great enthusiasm.

"Obviously, not ALL of us," a sharp voice interrupted them from behind.

He looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see Viconia hovering at their backs, cheerfully eavesdropping.

"No, no, of course not," he clarified. "Those who dwell in the Underdark are deprived of both sunlight and moonlight."

"We are not the least bit deprived, moon-male. The cloak of Shar envelops us in secrets, and in secrets lies power," Viconia challenged.

"Darkness is a void, the absence of warmth, understanding, and humanity."

" 'Humanity'? You rivvil are so arrogant!" The drow was scowling now.

Rasaad searched Arquen's face for her response, and the half-elf seemed to take on her usual, neutral, non-committal stance. "Viconia has a point," she remarked. "Don't you think so, Rasaad?"

Rasaad reflected on it for a moment, trying to locate a misunderstood line if there had been one and also his own understanding of drow and the teachings of Shar. It wasn't easy to empathize with non-goodly people, but Rasaad had always tried his best to uncover how they came about their point of view. "If you mean her point about human arrogance, I agree we are all afflicted with this flaw to some degree.

"As for her embrace of Shar," he said firmly, "I will never submit to the void."

"Oh, but you should, moon-child." Viconia had now saddled up to his side, as if trying to stop him in his tracks. She bore her gaze into his eyes. There was a grin on her face, a sly one that made her look like she was about to pounce on him like a cat.

"You can begin by submitting to one who can instruct you in the truth that lies in darkness," she continued.

Ever since he heard that the drow was a worshipper of Shar, he had been expecting a discussion such as this. Yet it still made him very uncomfortable. He knew the power of Shar lay in secrets but it was as if she could penetrate his innermost thoughts ... the darkest ones, where he was someone else. Someone a lot stronger. A lot wiser. Someone who could've kept Gamaz alive. The truth and answers that the light refused to provide him could finally be found, even if that meant searching in – and together with – the darkness.

He wished he never had those thoughts. He wished he was repelled instantly by Viconia's offer, instead of hesitant. Nobody else had ever proposed the possibility of following another path before to him, and here he had a willing teacher.

"I ... I think it's time for my meditations," he stammered in the end.

"My, my, but that one flusters easily," Viconia remarked. Like she saw right through him. She was also gazing at him with that amused, teasing look he sometimes saw on Arquen and Imoen, except hers was much more eager, and amorous.

Nobody else had looked at him that way before, and he wasn't even sure if he disliked it entirely.

"Viconia," Xan cleared his throat loudly. "I've got a spell here that may help with your sensitivity to the sun."

Viconia perked up at the news and fell back with the elf. Grateful for being relieved of the conversation that was fast going downhill, Rasaad turned around to give Xan a thank-you nod, to which Xan replied with his why-am-I-doing-this sigh.

Rasaad turned back to the road again and cast a sidelong glance at Arquen, wondering what her views were of the dichotomy between Selune and Shar, light and darkness.

"Now, Rasaad, you were saying...?" She seemed unfazed by his exchange with Viconia, and even gave him an encouraging smile, which instantly restored his mood. Once again, he was glad to have someone around now that Gamaz was gone, someone who reminded him of his spiritual convictions.

He decided to share his favorite illustration from the teachings of Sune, another sect under the Sun Soul Order: "As the monks of Sune put it, the sun blows a kiss to the moon, and the moon blows the kiss down to us. On this point my order agrees: The sweetest light is that which we reflect from others."

"What about your own light?"

Rasaad considered his words carefully. "I try to live by the tenets of the Sun Soul monks. I pray my light reveals the truth in darkness, offers succor to those in need, and obeys all just authority."

_Yes, the light will reveal the truth in darkness, maybe not today, but one day._

"That sounds admirable," Arquen said. With a twinkle in her eye, she next queried, "What light do you see coming from me?"

"Your inner light? To be honest, I have given the matter some thought, and I ... er ... "

He recalled their first meeting in Nashkel. A man had been jeering at him and she had prevented a fistfight by casting a sleep spell on the entire crowd. When he started traveling with the party, she went out of her way to made him feel welcomed, giving him a fine wakizashi, potions, even a box of chocolates. She was now extending the same courtesy towards Viconia, someone who would've been shunned by everyone else.

"The kindness and mercy you have shown to others is more beautiful than moonlight," he told her sincerely.

"Thanks, Rasaad. You're not so bad yourself," she said.

Now he was confused. What did she mean by "You're not so bad yourself?" Did she mean he was not bad in the evil sense, and therefore a good person? Such a compliment embarrassed him though, since it was only a few minutes ago that he was entertaining some rather blasphemous thoughts.

"I … uh … thank you Arquen. Hearing that from you means …"

He paused when he saw her covering her face with a hand. He could see her shoulders trembling.

"You are teasing me again, aren't you?"

"You really can't tell when I'm kidding, can you?" She finished the short fit of concealed laughter behind her hand before fanning herself again and switching back to a more polite expression.

"No, you always surprise me. I suppose that is one of the many reasons I am blessed to know someone like you."

"And I you," Arquen said, compelling him to smile all the way to Beregost.

* * *

><p>"Nope, no Harpers came by," the podgy bartender said when he rose from behind the counter and saw Rasaad standing there.<p>

Rasaad opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything, the bartender added, "And I didn't hear any word about an Alorgoth, neither."

Rasaad nodded and thanked the man before leaving The Jovial Juggler.

It was their third morning in the town of Beregost. Every day, they had been stopping by the few taverns and inns to inquire if there were any sightings or word of Jaheira and Khalid. On Rasaad's rounds, he also took the opportunity to ask any new faces he came across about the elusive Alorgoth. No word on anything, so far.

He stepped out of The Jovial Juggler to make his way back to Feldepost's Inn when a little voice quipped, "You're funny looking!"

Rasaad peered down to see three small children staring up at him with goldfish eyes. The eldest boy looked no more than six years of age and had his front teeth missing. On either of his side were a boy and a girl about half his age, both with thumbs still in their mouths.

He squatted down so that he was the same height as them and, smiling gently, he asked, "And why do you say that?"

The older boy told him, "You are balder than my baby brother and your face is covered in ink."

The girl popped her thumb out of her mouth and pointed at the tavern's signpost behind Rasaad. "You look funnier than the picture."

Rasaad turned around to study the signpost that bore the gaudy painting of a jester with a comical face painted in chalk-white, complete with a freakish motley hat. Oh dear … they were comparing him to _that?_ And he looked _funnier?_ He couldn't help but chuckle at their childish honesty.

"Are you one of them from the circus, who does backflips and stuff?" was the next thing they asked him.

"I'm not from the circus, but I can do a backflip for you if you like."

The little faces lit up at the suggestion and three heads bopped up and down excitedly.

Rasaad stood up. "Watch this!" he told them, and leaped onto the banister that lined the front of the tavern. He flipped backwards effortlessly and landed on the ground right beside them. The children clapped and squealed in delight, their opinion of him quickly switching from "you're funny looking" to "you're so amazing!"

He stayed on and played with the children for some time, performing more backflips at their request, followed by frontflips. They told him in excited voices that they had seen him heading over to the Jovial Juggler in the mornings, and thought he was a performer or freak show of sorts, according to their understanding of the signpost's picture. They then asked him to show them how to do a handstand, which all of them tried to do in a row with their short legs up against the banister. Soon their friends came running over as Rasaad obliged them with a lesson on somersaults.

"So _this_ is the extent of your investigative skills!"

A dry voice said upon Rasaad's demonstration of a spinning hook kick. The children had asked him to differentiate what a monk could do that a clown couldn't.

He turned to see Xan standing next to a girl with a cherubic face and pigtails. The enchanter had a disapproving look on his face as he folded his arms and tapped his foot impatiently.

"What are you doing over here?" Rasaad asked, patting a boy on the head to dissuade the inquisitive one from pulling off his bracelets.

"I was taking a walk, and couldn't help but notice that half the town's pre-school population was gathered in front of a tavern as if the age limit has suddenly been reduced to three."

Rasaad realized then that there were indeed over a dozen small children surrounding him now, all glancing back and forth between Xan and him as they spoke.

"The show is over for today," Rasaad told the kids, causing a chorus of boos at Xan's direction. Someone threw a stone at the elf and it bounced off his circlet. In an attempt to subdue the disappointed faces and glares, Xan brandished his moonblade and started running his fingers across the shimmering blade.

Rasaad really, _really_ hoped Xan wasn't doing this to threaten the kids.

"Do you really need to spend so much time drawing attention to yourself?" the elf grumbled as Rasaad pried the last toddler away from hugging his leg with doting affection. "Didn't you preach an entire sermon on top of a crate the last time we were here?"

"I didn't mean to dally, I assure you," Rasaad said as they started their walk back to the Feldepost Inn. "It's just … the children reminded me of my own childhood in Calimport. Being an orphan in the streets, I used to watch with great envy the children at play with adults."

Rasaad was very fond of children, especially the urchins wandering the streets on their own, whether from orphaned poverty or parents who simply chose to be absent. Whenever a child peered at him with interest—and many of them did as monks were generally an uncommon sight—he would stop to give them a few minutes of his time. With the beggar kids, he couldn't always give them a gold piece, but he knew from his past that there was something equally if not more precious that he could give: time and undivided attention. That a kindly stranger cared enough to play with them, make them laugh, and dote on them … he knew they would remember the incident fondly for weeks to come.

"It may sound odd, but with little ones, there is value to the act of love and self-worth, or their opposites, rejection and shame. Immeasurable in gold, but such acts have a more lasting impression than the satisfaction of a single meal."

Rasaad glanced at Xan a hear his comment, but the bored look on the elf's face was more expressive than if he had said, "Rasaad, haven't you realized you are worth as much as a sewer rat?"

Rasaad decided not to say anything else. He also felt a small pang of foolishness for rambling about his past to Xan, again. The moonblade wielder cum Greycloak cum enchanter cum chronically depressed elf was obviously of aristocratic lineage. It was likely he would never experience life on the streets and understand what it meant to beg, serve and steal, to carve out a pitiable existence.

"I am planning to depart for High Hedge this noon. I should be back tomorrow if no bandits or beasts waylay my course," Xan said.

Glad the elf still wanted to talk, Rasaad asked, "What's in High Hedge, Xan? Perhaps I could accompany you."

"Why not? The more the merrier in death. As for our destination, should we survive the journey, there is powerful mage with an extensive collection of scrolls and magical items."

Back at the Feldepost Inn, they found Arquen and Imoen in the middle of a chess game.

"Any news?" Arquen looked up eagerly from her seat. Rasaad shook his head and Arquen sighed. But when Xan told her about his plans for High Hedge, her expression lit up again.

"Great! It'll be a nice change of scenery!" Arquen quipped.

"Actually, I would highly suggest that only Rasaad and I go. You ought to remain here with Imoen and Viconia, to stay out of trouble."

"But, why?" Arquen's face fell again and she pouted.

Xan sighed. "Weren't you paying attention to the last thing I said? … Never mind. We will be dealing with a mage who has the reputation of being highly strung—"

Imoen interrupted him by coughing out the words "pot" and "kettle".

"—and the presence of a drow might offend him. Viconia obviously cannot stay here by herself as she doesn't know what Jaheira and Khalid look like, and you cannot expect her to answer the door without drawing unwanted attention."

Imoen pointed at Rasaad. "What about Rasaad? _He_ can stay in the same room with Viconia for one night!"

"GODS! NO!" both Arquen and Xan shouted … as if the very idea of him and Viconia in a room together was unthinkable … Rasaad didn't know why though. Obviously he could defend himself against the drow with a snap to the neck. If she wanted to speak to him about her worship of Shar again, he would simply lay down the two hundred points of Sun Soul apologetics this time. What else could she possibly do to him inside a bedroom?

"It still doesn't make sense why all five of us can't just go together," Imoen said sharply. "You're trying to get away from us, aren't you, Xan? And trying to rope poor innocent Rasaad in with you!" She wagged an accusing finger at the elf.

Xan covered his face with his hands and started massaging the sides of his head. He counted one to ten in elvish under his breath. "Can the both of you _please_ just stay here? Or at least _one_ of you?" he implored.

Fortunately for the enchanter, the second option seemed to appease the girls, and they turned the decision of who should go into a game. Arquen took out a silver coin and balanced it gingerly on the back of her thumb. "I'll flip you for it, okay?," she told Imoen. "_Heads_, I win! _Tails_, you get to go on the wild excursion to High Hedge!" She flicked the coin high into the air.

It landed with a 'plink' on the floor, with _heads_ facing upwards.

"Aw …" Imoen looked crestfallen.

"Looks like the boys and I will be visiting the glorious wilderness of High Hedge! Now go fetch my things!" Arquen announced, retrieving the coin.

"Hey! Since when did I become your servant?" Imoen asked with an incredulous look on her face.

"Oh, didn't you read the disclaimer to the contest? The loser also has to submit to humbly serving the winner in the preparations for the trip!"

"Bully!" Imoen gave her sister a punch on the arm but skipped off to their room all the same. Xan excused himself to pack, leaving Rasaad and Arquen in the common room.

"Don't you need to pack?" Arquen asked him, as she carried on a solitary game of flicking the silver coin into the air and catching it at the back of her hand.

Rasaad shrugged. "It will only take me a minute. All I have to do is get my backpack and swords."

"I honestly don't know how you manage it. We have to unload everything in order to find anything," she remarked as she balanced the coin on her thumbnail.

Rasaad watched the coin flipping in the air, and thought there was something peculiar about its design. He waited for Arquen to flick it again, then snatched the coin in mid-air.

"Hey!" Arquen cried. She jumped from her seat in an attempt to snatch the coin back, but he merely grabbed her wrist and twisted her around. She had never been able to break free of any of his armlocks whenever they trained in combat together, and he was a foot taller than she was so it was easy to avoid the flailing punches and kicks she was throwing his way.

He inspected the coin with his free hand, and just as he suspected, the reason it looked strange was because it was double-sided with _heads_ on both sides.

"I cannot believe you just deceived your own sister!" Rasaad stared at the offending coin and back at her.

He released his hold on her and she pounced on his fist, prying his fingers loose one by one to free the coin.

"Oh, come on now. I do it all the time. I'm more surprised that Imoen hadn't figure it out," she said nonchalantly when the coin was back in her possession.

"Arquen, it just isn't right …"

"Fine, you wuss. If you really feel so bad about it, I'll just let Imoen go instead. I'll even apologize for cheating. Happy?"

"But I do want you to go!" Rasaad blurted out, before he realized how dishonorable it made him sound. He should _not_ be preferring her over Imoen, or Viconia for that matter. As the battle frontliner of the group, he was honor-bound to watch over all three of them equally.

"Then there's nothing wrong with tweaking things in our favor, is there?" She gave him a mischievous wink that made him feel both elated and guilty at the same time.

Imoen came skipping back right then with the backpack, which she dropped at Rasaad's feet. Arquen's expression fell back into formation as if she had just been talking about the weather.

"Have fun, you two!" Imoen told them cheerfully, giving Arquen a hug. "Don't become one and come back with three!"

Now what did Imoen mean by that? Were they planning on meeting someone new in High Hedge?

* * *

><p>The three of them spent the rest of the day hiking westwards from Beregost through a well-trodden forest trail.<p>

Rasaad couldn't help but notice how their journey was a lot less ... stressful (Xan would say "restrained pandemonium") without the presence of Imoen and Viconia. As he admired the serene forest landscape around them, he imagined it to be a beautiful scenic painting. Imoen would've been a garish splatter of hot pink handprints, and Viconia the burnt black edges still threatening to engulf the entire canvas in flames.

_Er … That was a most unkind thought. Selune forgive me._

He looked over his shoulder at Arquen. How she seemed a lot more ... mellow (Xan would say "of sound mind") on her own. She was walking next to Xan, chatting about spells and proposing scrolls they should purchase from High Hedge. The elf, too, appeared more animated than usual and waved his hands about as if to illustrate the spellcasting.

Rasaad would've liked to have been a better conversation partner, alas he knew very little about magic. Imoen had asked him before about how he became an "instant torchbearer" and created his "doughnut of fire". His explanation that Sun Soul Monks could "emanate rays of light onto those drenched in darkness" made no sense to her. Then Arquen had asked if he was "perpetually on heat" and when he answered "I suppose so", they didn't stop laughing at him for a tenday. He never figured out why, but after that distressing experience, he shied away from all talk of magic.

So he fell into the role of scouting in the distance ahead, and that was when he ran into the gnolls' ambush.

As the trail widened towards the southwest and the stone towers of the High Hedge Estate came into distant view, a pack of six gnolls sprang from behind the trees to block his path. Rasaad was surprised that he didn't hear them earlier as gnolls were not known for moving silently, until the leader of the pack pointed its halberd at him and growled, "Smells like dinner."

Unfortunately he wasn't able to detect the scent of gnolls as well as the beasts could smell humans. Only up this close as the pack surrounded him, could he smell their dog breath and grimy fur.

They charged at him and he skittered through the pack, leaping onto the poles of their halberds to deliver swift kicks to their snouts and ricocheting himself around so that the gnolls, though quick creatures themselves, hesitated to strike out because they seemed to keep coming face to face with their own in the circle instead of the slippery monk they thought they had cornered.

In a moment, a dizzying burst of vivid colors swept over the pack as Xan joined the battle, blinding most of them. Arquen launched couple of magic missiles to take down the first gnoll.

Three gnolls gnashed their teeth and took off after the interfering spellcasters, leaving Rasaad to wrestle with the blinded leader, now swinging wildly with his halberd as his henchman tried desperately to grab the monk.

A few seconds later, Rasaad left one beast with a jaw snapped to its chest and the other with half its head bashed in. A couple of hundred feet away, Xan sheathed his moonblade and stepped over two still-jerking corpses.

Then Arquen's scream filled the air. Rasaad and Xan looked around quickly to realize that a gnoll was still missing from the pack and so was Arquen. Dread overwhelmed him as he rushed towards the direction of her screams ahead of Xan.

He found her dragged some distance away into the wild foliage, pinned down by the bulky beast with its pawed foot on her shin. The gnoll jerked her arm backwards awkwardly and was about to lean in for a bite. Its other filthy hand was gripping, of all places, the back of her thigh much too far up to keep Rasaad from flying into a hysterical rage.

"Let her go, dog!" Rasaad screamed.

The gnoll snapped it head up, and darted its gaze from Rasaad to the fast-approaching Xan. Realizing the rest of its pack was most likely dead, it dropped the half-elf's arm and fled with a howl.

Rasaad rushed over to Arquen and pulled the half-elf to her feet. She was visibly shaking in his arms. He brushed her long hair aside, swept a leave off her cheek, and saw that her face was streaked with tears and terror.

That beast almost hurt her. _He_ let the beast almost hurt her.

The gnoll had ran off to the south. He let go of Arquen and charged in its direction. He could hear Xan shouting after him—"Let it go, Rasaad!"—but no, he was going to hunt that beast down and shatter its skull into pieces!

Trees zipped past him and he kept an arm up in front of his face to push all the branches out of his way as he sprinted through the wilderness. Gnolls were fast creatures, but so was he. Eventually the trees broke away into a clearing, and he stopped to get a better sense of where the gnoll may have fled to.

He needn't had bothered, as the runaway gnoll re-emerged on its own accord, having regrouped with another two of his pack closer to their own campsite. All three gnolls growled menacing at him, dripping saliva as they surrounded their dinner. Rasaad raised his fists in return to coax the gnolls into making the first strike, ready to beat the foul beasts down to a pulp.

Then a pale, smooth arrow slammed itself into the runaway gnoll's temple, and the beast fell limped to the ground on its side.

Two more arrows followed within seconds of each other with deadly accuracy, hitting the second gnoll in its chest, and the third in its neck.

Surprised with the interception, Rasaad looked towards the direction where the arrows had appeared from, preparing himself to deflect an arrow shot if it came. It was difficult to see beyond the dense trees and bushes, until a bush shook and a camouflaged leg stepped out. Positioned in front of it was the deadly longbow, with an arrow in place and aimed at Rasaad. Rasaad put his hands up in a sign of peace but ready to disarm the bow or snatch the arrow in a split second if he needed to.

The camouflaged figure stepped out further into the clearing, and Rasaad recognized it to be an elf, though this particular elf and Xan were as different as night and day. He bore tribal tattoos on his forehead and chin, with wild, uncombed hair. His clothes resembled the colors of the forest, with a frayed cloak that made him appear even more of a wild man.

"Well met. Thank you for your aid in killing these foul beasts," Rasaad said. The elf fixed an intense gaze on him, unspeaking, then darted to the direction of Arquen's voice calling out for Rasaad.

The half-elf came running over, with Xan trying to keep up behind. Rasaad momentarily forgot about the wild elf's presence as he shifted his attention to Arquen. Was she still in shock from the gnoll's encounter? Her legs weren't wounded if she could still run. He could still see dirt and tear stains on her cheeks and neck though, which he desperately wanted to wipe away, as much as he wanted to wipe away her memory of the entire incident so that she could never recall almost being mauled by a gnoll … but … how?

If there had been an opportunity for him to do something, it slipped away when she stopped a few feet from him to regard the wild elf with interest. "I couldn't get the spell out in time to stop the gnoll," she said to Rasaad, keeping her eyes trained on the new elf, who finally lowered his bow. Xan reached the group, a little short of breath though he kept his chin up to show a more dignified impression.

"I was thanking this elf for lending us his bow," Rasaad told his companions. Xan looked at his fellow kin and addressed him in Elvish. The elf responded in a gruff voice. They exchanged a few words, neither looking thrilled or put off by the other, or even friendly though they were kinsmen.

The wild elf turned to Rasaad and Arquen again. "What foolishness takes city dwellers this far from civilization?" he asked in Common.

Rasaad considered pointing at Xan, but associating "Xan" with "foolishness" seemed rather offensive so he held his tongue as well as finger to let Arquen or Xan to speak instead.

Arquen came forward and stepped into her role as leader of the group. "We're adventurers, on the lookout for evil to smite," she said in a loud, bold voice. Even Rasaad could tell she sounded odd and was still at the edge of her nerves. A guise to mask her earlier feelings of terror. He wished again that he could be closer to her still instead of standing by her side.

The elf appeared to like what he heard though. "A strange coincidence! I have a quest similar to your own," he said, giving all of them a half-smile. "I have been hunting the bandits in the region for the past few months."

Arquen's eyes lit up at the knowledge of having a common enemy.

"Perhaps if we worked together we would fare better. What say you to that?"

Arquen turned to Rasaad with eager turquoise eyes. For her sake, he smiled back at her and nodded. They would certainly need the strength of more able fighters.

Xan spoke next with a raise of his hand, and speaking Common for the benefit of all. "We'll help you against the bandits, but only if you tell us why you've spent months hunting them."

The elf's brown eyes flashed intensely again. "Their leader, an ogre named Tazok, took the life of someone very dear to me," he said with a growl.

_Tazok_ … The sound of that name cast a shadow over Arquen's face. They hadn't even exchanged names with the elf yet, but already it felt as if they shared a bond and deep understanding, of what it meant to lose someone precious in their lives, and what it meant to find the people responsible for that lost.

As Xan elaborated some details in elvish, no doubt about their knowledge of the bandits, Rasaad felt something soft finding its way into his hand. He looked down to see Arquen's hand searching for his, tightening her grip around his fingers as she listened and nodded grimly with the elves. Whether she was fully aware that she was holding his hand or doing it unconsciously, he wasn't sure. If Imoen were here, she could very well be holding onto her sister for support instead. Or if Xan had been the one standing next to her, would she have sought his hand too?

Apart from not being familiar with the elven tongue, Rasaad wasn't familiar with such … physical contact.

Whatever it may be, she had reached out to him, for comfort and support it seemed, and he wanted her to know that he was always going to be there to provide it, in the manner in which she so desired. He squeezed her hand back, and then, somewhat guided by impulse, stroke her soft skin gently with his thumb.

Their meeting with the ogre-blooded Tazok would come soon, that much he could understand. With the help of the elf who appeared no less than an accomplished marksman to their party, they were ready to press forward to the bandit camp as soon as they were done in High Hedge and returned to Beregost to pick Imoen up.

And Viconia. He _almost_ forgot they had Viconia with them now.


	4. 4: Arquen

Above them, the clouds started to break as they approached Beregost.

_A sign things are looking up,_ Arquen thought with a smile as she combed her fingers through her long blonde hair, tucking the loose strands behind her slightly-pointy ears (yup, that must be the primary use for elfish ears—keeping long hair away from the face).

She might not be some veteran commander of soldiers, but she was only twenty-one years old, and already leading an elite party of kobold slayers and bandit scalp collectors! Who needed Jaheira to nag and push people around? Some of the books she read in Candlekeep shed enough light on leadership qualities, such as that tomb_ How to Win Friends and Influence People_. And at this present moment, she had acquired the arms of three very able men, all marching back to Beregost with her in aid of her mission.

So very able men, and fine-looking too!

The first was Rasaad, who had now been in her company the longest since she left Candlekeep (apart from Imoen, of course). Having handed over his scouting job to their new elf companion, the monk now strolled by her side, carrying her backpack for her without complaint and breaking into a dashing smile every time she glanced sideways and met his soft brown eyes. She trailed the line patterns of his tattoos again with her eyes, focusing on the line and series of dots that curved around the side of his neck. By force of habit, her gaze dropped lower to the spiral knot tattoos on his chest, then traveled lower still to his six packs long after his series of tattoos had ended.

That damn holy man really had no idea how he looked like shirtless!

Arquen even dared to say that the female marauders they had encountered so far probably fought badly due to being distracted by his half-nakedness, or, knowing they had no chance of walking away from the battle alive, purposely threw themselves at the monk to be grappled by him, dying a blissful death in the hands of someone that beautiful. Now if only he had some sense of money – she and Imoen would have fought tooth and nail over him a long time ago.

"Man does not live on bread alone," he once told her. But she clearly wasn't a man, and she _lived_ for her bread, in both forms. Both flour _and_ gold.

And so she and Imoen would wait, for that knight in shining armor (worth over five thousand gold pieces, at least) to show up, riding a white steed (from his own stable grounds).

The second candidate was Xan, the gloomy moon elf walking on the other side of her with a figurative raincloud over his head. What he was so depressed about, Arquen had no idea. Their trip to the High Hedge Estate had been extremely fruitful. They'd purchased plenty of new scrolls to study, as well as two new wands to summon monsters to their aid should they face more bandits than they could handle. Arquen also managed to relieve the bad-tempered Thalantyr the Conjurer of a brand new magical robe, which she kept hidden in her backpack and would never tell Xan.

"The majesty of the forest makes me feel insignificant," the enchanter sighed, when Arquen asked him what was on his mind. He fixed his eyes on the trail ahead and plodded along. Even though his eyes were perusing the despair of the polluted earth, trampled creatures and leaves all dead on the ground, she knew he was also running over spells and investigative reports to the Greycloaks in his head.

Over in the looks department, Xan was the _prettiest_ man Arquen had ever seen. His gorgeous features were refined by his elegant purple robes, the jeweled circlet that framed his angular features and, of course, the sword belt that hugged his lanky frame and carried the impressive moonblade. In this sense, he rated closer to the ideal man than Rasaad, because the elf had _class_. If only gagging him to stop his constant whinging wouldn't render him useless ….

Arquen's thoughts were interrupted by Rasaad breaking away from her side to rush over to Kivan, beseeching the wild elf to lower his bow and arrow ("there is no threat in civilization, Kivan!") against the town crier as they entered the grainy streets of Beregost.

Ah, Kivan of Shilmista ... the third and newest contender for the party's most eligible but untouchable bachelor. He was as wild as wild men could go without regressing into the state of a gibberling. The elf shifted his gaze about restlessly as he regarded the buildings as if they were ancient tombs, crates and barrels as if they were logs and boulders, and the townsfolk like various species of animals. With his frayed cloak and leaves sticking out of his hair, he looked a riot walking next to the tattoo-splattered half-naked human.

When they reached the doorsteps of the Feldepost Inn, Kivan stood at the steps and narrowed his eyes at the entrance as if it were a trap. Arquen followed Rasaad inside as Xan tried to coax the wild elf into the inn, in the same manner of one who was attempting to lure a wild stallion into a stable, including snapping his fingers and saying _"come on now, don't be afraid, come inside"_ in elvish.

Arquen decided to let Xan tame the wild elf so that she could return to Imoen first. Even though they had only been apart for one night, she missed her sister dearly. When she reached their room, she knocked on the door eagerly.

Apparently just as eager to welcome her back, Imoen was at the door within seconds. "I sure miss ya!" Imoen cried happily, throwing her arms over her.

Arquen hugged her sister back tightly, somewhat filled with relief that nothing bad had happened to her in the company of Viconia. The drow was sitting cross-legged on her own bed. She looked up briefly to acknowledge their presence, then went straight back to filing her nails.

Rasaad let himself into the room to unload Arquen's backpack at the foot of her bed. While he was there, he straightened the pillow and smoothed the blanket.

"And how do you fare, Rasaad?" Imoen asked, turning to him.

"Very well. You would be pleased to know that Arquen and I heeded your earlier words, and we now have another with us!" Rasaad announced in that pleasant tone of his.

Imoen's jaw fell to the floor and her eyeballs popped out of their sockets as she stared at the monk, looking as if she had been hit by a stun, freeze and horror spell all at once.

"COMPLETE MISUNDERSTANDING!" Arquen said sharply, clapping Imoen hard on the back as Imoen placed a hand on her chest, taking rapid breaths and appearing to go into heart palpitations at the thought of Rasaad banging up her sister. "What Rasaad meant to say was we have a new companion to our GROUP!"

Quickly, she looked out the door to search for Kivan and Xan outside. ("Imoen, what just happened?" she heard Rasaad ask. "Nothing happened, that's what happened! Nothing!" Imoen replied in a shrilled voice.)

"Kivan, why don't you come inside to meet our other friends!" Arquen waved him in. Kivan, still eyeing his four-wall surroundings wildly, lowered his bow to fit it through the doorway. He stepped into the room and shifted his eyes around.

The elf saw the drow.

The drow saw the elf.

The elf let out a roar and drew his bow and arrow.

The next thing they knew, Viconia had dived under her bed as the arrow clipped her nail file into two.

Kivan roared again and pulled out his long sword, flying over to the drow and flipping the bed up with one hand in a mighty display of strength. Viconia screamed and leapt across to the other side of room. More beds overturned, chairs flew, feathers burst out of pillows into the air, a vase smashed into the wall, and someone threw the washbasin through the window, shattering it.

Imoen stood in the centre of the room, staring back and forth at Kivan and Viconia leaping over, under and through furniture with a stunned expression. Not as dramatic as the shock she had when Rasaad mistakenly declared he had sex but shocked enough that she didn't move an inch. The rest of them too could only stand by and watch Kivan in mad pursuit of Viconia.

Viconia managed to survive the entire chase, at the end of it dodging behind Rasaad to make him her human shield. She pulled the surprised man into a hostage position backwards with her until they were both pressed against the corner, then held on to his body for dear life. The only way for Kivan to get to her now was pierce his blade through the monk.

"Die, dark witch!" Kivan shouted through Rasaad, pacing back and forth in front of them predatory style, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"I've done nothing wrong!" Viconia cried from behind the monk.

Rasaad stood there looking mostly molested, but also tormented between upholding his role as protector, and wanting to toss Viconia onto the sacrificial altar himself.

In the end the Selunite spoke up for the Sharran. "She's right, Kivan. She hasn't done anything wrong … that we know of." He raised his hands to get the violent elf to lower his long sword.

"It is madness for us to ally ourselves with the drow. She is evil!" Kivan spat.

"Calm down, Kivan!" Xan said sharply. He stepped over the smashed furniture – tripping slightly on a piece of cracked wood – and put his hand on Kivan's shoulder. The wild elf shifted his gaze slightly to acknowledge his kinsman.

He growled in elvish. _"We betray our kin by associating with the evil race, the foul worshippers of Lolth."_

_"The drow is an exile, and not a worshipper of Lolth but Shar."_

_"A worshipper of Shar? And here you have a Selunite? Surely he will be slain, if not corrupted by the darkness!"_

_"The Selunite can defend himself,"_ Xan glanced over at Rasaad, who blinked at him with a blank look. _"His faith is strong and unwavering. He speaks about it, even in his sleep."_

_"My rage cannot be denied. Is this our only way to Tazok?"_ Kivan shut his eyes. He heaved his shoulders heavily. _"I shall restrain my instincts if your wisdom guides us down this path. I only wish to find Tazok."_

Xan nodded as he squeezed Kivan's shoulder, shooting a stern look at Arquen, who bit her lip. The enchanter didn't look away until she nodded back. _Kivan's soul is being tortured,_ he wanted her to understand.

Xan added in Common, so that all in the room would understand his following words.

"If the drow crosses us, I swear by the Seldarine I will cut her heart out myself."

The tone of his voice was unlike any other emotion Arquen had heard from him before. Chilling to the bone, and he looked Viconia dead in the eye as he uttered them.

The drow stepped out from behind Rasaad. "I thank you for your _mercy._" Despite the seriousness of the situation, Arquen detected a trace of sarcasm, but also acknowledgement that the drow had to watch herself in Kivan's presence.

Kivan let out a growl and turned around, pushing past Arquen roughly as he tried to exit the room. Arquen turned around to follow him.

And saw that a crowd had gathered outside the room. Other inn guests with busybody faces and, more notably, the innkeeper as he pushed his way past the crowd.

"WHAT IN THE NINE HELLS HAPPENED HERE?"

The fat innkeeper cupped his face with his hands tightly at the sight of the overturned, broken furniture, smashed-in walls, and raindrops drifting in now that the window was gone.

"I can explain ... " Arquen started.

"You bet your tiny arse you better."

Arquen opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Excuses raced through her mind. _There was a huge venomous hairy spider? A substance-abusive orgy that got completely out of hand? Poltergeists?_

She looked to the others for help, imploring especially to Xan to cast his charm spell over the whole crowd. It was only about twenty people. It should be child's play for the enchanter, right? Right?

Xan shook his head.

"I take it back. I can't explain."

"Here's a better suggestion," the innkeeper said through seething teeth as he demonstrated the most outstanding display of self-control. He had gone a bit cockeyed from witnessing the destruction of the room but he managed to pull the cockeye back apart and turned a shade of purple instead. "Why don't the lot of you get out and never, ever set foot into this inn again?"

* * *

><p>"Sooo … we've got two elves who obviously loathe drow, and the feeling's pretty much mutual," Imoen was saying.<p>

Arquen nodded, chewing on her thumbnail nervously.

"In fact Kivan looks like he might gut Viconia any second now," Imoen continued, looking over at the campfire, where Kivan, Xan and Viconia were attempting to prepare supper together as part of a team-building exercise.

"Yup."

"And then there's our goody-two-shoes monk."

"Uhuh."

"Who worships Selune, who, if I'm not wrong, is the arch enemy of Shar."

"Uhuh." Arquen swapped her depleted thumbnail for another fingernail.

"Whom Viconia worships."

"Oh yes she does."

"And you reckon we are gonna live happily ever after?"

Kivan had been hunting bandits with them for five days now. _Five whole days _of being in the company of Viconia.

Another argument erupted just then near the campfire as Kivan shouted, "She's trying to poison us all!" Arquen and Imoen turned to see the wild elf raising a hand threateningly at Viconia. Xan raced over and tackled him to the ground to stop the attack.

"Stupid elf! It is just pepper! The stew tastes like your urine without it!" Viconia shouted, throwing a handful of black peppercorns at the surface elves.

"Silence your tongue, she-demon!"

"Go wrestle a dire bear, you zoophile!"

Xan held Kivan by the shoulders, speaking rapidly. _"Calm down, Kivan! Do not be so easily provoked! You were once married—haven't you learnt that you'll never win an argument against a woman?"_

Frustrated, Kivan turned his heels and stomped off into the wilderness.

Sighing, Xan turned to Viconia, who stood with her arms crossed, ladle still in hand. "I did nothing wrong. You are fully aware," she said with a huff.

"I know, Viconia, I know." He looked at her again, closed his eyes and shook his head.

He started walking over to Arquen, who sighed at Imoen and braced herself for another lecture.

"I implore you to ask the drow to leave this group," Xan said slowly, folding his arms. "I never thought our band could get anymore pitiable, but it appears we are one step from getting shot in the knee by a wild elf's arrow."

"That is _so _peculiar. I always thought the _dark_ elf would be the one to double-cross us," Arquen said with as much sarcasm in her voice as she could muster. She believed her comment, too.

Xan narrowed his eyes at her.

Oh, so he wanted a glaring contest? She shot turquoise eye daggers at him for one good long unblinking minute. Beside them, Imoen cleared her throat three times and hissed, "That's so childish, both of you!" but they ignored her. When her eyes started to crackle from dryness, when she could sense Xan about to cheat with his enchanter abilities (his lips were moving, mumbling a spell no doubt to power-up his glare), when she knew she couldn't win, she reminded him, "I am the leader. I get the last say."

"Then I shall abandon you to your fate."

Arquen gasped. How could he! Blackmail! "Xan, you can't leave us!" she cried, blinking furiously to restore the proper use of her tear ducts.

"If you want to play at being ruler of our little band, then let us do this democratically, shall we? Kivan and I vote for the drow's dismissal. Why don't you go find out what everyone else thinks?" That said, the enchanter stalked off in what Arquen thought looked like an arrogant swagger.

Arquen watched Xan go back to salvaging their dinner and heaved her shoulders as she let out a heavy sigh. Weren't things starting to look up? Why was it so damn hard? Was this the reason one of her unknown biological parents bred with a human? She turned to Imoen, who gave her a crooked smile and sighed along with her.

"What would you vote for, Immy?" Arquen asked.

Imoen shrugged. "You know me, I'll stand by you all the way. Viconia's alright by me. Catty, yes, but I can't bring myself to hate her. Plus she's shown herself to be a good cleric."

"So Rasaad makes the deciding vote then?"

"That's gonna be a tough one to buy. Viconia _despises_ him."

"That doesn't mean he hates her back."

"I know he's kind of dense, but he's not _that_ dense. You're asking him to be a masochist here."

Arquen sighed again, at the risk of becoming like Xan.

Imoen patted her arm. "But you should ask him anyway. At least he'll know you care about what he thinks."

"Okay, let's go find the monk."

"No-o. Not with me. You should speak to him alone."

"Why?"

Imoen gave her a wink. "Trust me. Speak to him alone." Her sister nodded somewhat fervently next. "It's not just his vote you need."

Arquen thought it all a little strange, but since Imoen was so insistent about it, she went to look for their final voter by herself.

She found him in a clearing some distance away from the campsite, a solitary hooded figure gazing upon the night sky. Stars sprinkled across the cloudless sky that night, shining brighter than the waxing moon.

"Hey Rasaad, what are you doing way over here?"

She sat down by his side, sitting cross-legged in the same meditative posture as him. His hand was fiddling with something and she was a little surprised to see him twirling a small stick. On the ground in front of him were a bunch of twigs arranged in a set pattern. She'd always thought he was one hundred percent focused on his meditations and not one to idle away.

"The elves were preoccupied, and you were with Imoen," he replied softly, turning to her. "I did not to wish to interrupt or bother anyone, so I thought it best for me to come away." He gave her a small smile, but one she thought that looked a little sad. Like he was sorry for letting her down.

"No one thinks you are a bother, Rasaad," she wanted him to know.

He shrugged and poked at the ground with the stick. "I am always the last person to figure out what's going on, it seems. Growing up on the streets and later the monastery didn't give me much knowledge on the more… practical matters, let alone cultured matters. I doubt someone like Xan would have the patience to explain things to me in a way I would understand, if they wished to speak to me to begin with."

"Oh, but you don't want to be an old stuffy elf, anyhow. And have you _met_ this other elf by the name of Kivan lately?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind… Umm, what are you doing?" Arquen pointed at the neatly arranged formation of sticks.

"Oh, just playing with sticks. Xan once asked me about it too. I told him that it was all I remembered ever having to play with when—"

He broke off his sentence and shook his head. "I'm just idling," he said instead.

Arquen felt a little prickle in her chest. She knew what he was about to say. She was an orphan too, but she realized now how much Gorion had doted on her. As far as she could remember, Imoen and her always had matching dolls and toys because they refused to share and were always stealing from each other so whatever Gorion or Winthrop wanted to gift them, the men always had to buy in twos. And there were marbles for bullets and cards for gambling and wooden blocks for chewing. Candlekeep sounded like an idyllic childhood compared to what he had.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Rasaad. Your past made you who you are today, which happens to be the sweetest guy I know."

He smiled again, this time a little wider. "You are always so nice to me, Arquen."

Now she felt a pang of guilt, for all those times she shouted at him during her pre-menstrual days, casting magic missiles and other projectiles at him just to test his reflexes, making him do all the laundry just because she knew he'd never say no… And he _still_ thought she was "nice" to him.

She cleared her throat. "Rasaad, I need your opinion… your advice, possibly, on a little problem within our group," she started.

"Are you referring to the elves who are on the verge of killing each other, and that Viconia should be dismissed?"

Incredible. For a person who took an average of two days to figure out the punch-line to a joke, the monk was remarkably intuitive when it came to serious and high EQ matters. She nodded.

"You are the leader, Arquen. You decide who stays and who goes."

"Xan thinks we should vote on it. So I need yours. I know Viconia hasn't been the nicest person to you. Do you want her to go?"

Rasaad lifted a knee and rested an arm on it as he looked in deep thought. Arquen worried for a moment that he had already formulated a detailed plan in his mind on where to dispose of the drow and how. According to Xan, any Rasaad-Viconia discussion would only end in blood spray.

"I have been thinking about what Viconia said about humanity in the Underdark. I imagine even in darkness, there exists a sense of purpose. Their means to accomplishing this simply happens to be violence, of which we are more morally sensitive to on the surface."

He shrugged. "I suppose we could be like everyone else and shun her, and no one would blame us for it." He turned to her. "Or, we could be different."

"Do you need Viconia, Arquen?" he asked.

Arquen thought about the drow, who had filled in for Jaheira in the last tenday with her healing spells. The drow had a pretty good arm with her sling as well, and though she was nowhere near as strong as the druid in combat, she sure made up for it with her… enthusiasm in ensuring their enemies were so dead that they could be reanimated as zombies fighting on their side. "I suppose. She's a pretty decent cleric."

"What if I told you that there are many others out there who can aid us?"

"You want Viconia to go then?" Arquen asked, slightly disappointed though it wasn't unexpected.

"No," Rasaad said, making her raise an eyebrow. "I just wondered if you were aware that she needs you more than you will ever need her."

He shrugged again but then gave her a small, warm smile. "But I suppose that's what friendship means.

"In that sense, I would like Viconia to stay. I believe in showing her compassion, not in spite of her drow heritage, but because of it."

This man… was the epitome of goodness. She had stumbled across an angel. Arquen realized how grateful she was to have met him. Even if the world came crashing down tomorrow and she grew Errtu horns and a facial wart the size of a turnip, he would still be her friend.

"Shall we head back to camp, before one of the elves end up in the supper pot?" she said, making him retch slightly at the thought.

They got to their feet and dusted the grass off their clothes, then stood looking into each other's eyes for a moment. Even though the tattoos gave him that tough badass appearance, looking into Rasaad's brown eyes revealed deep compassion. He also made her feel a little funny inside, like how she would feel after swallowing a bowl of cold jelly whole and letting her stomach deal with the wobble. It was strange to her that a man could make her feel so many different things.

But he was completely unlike those gallant men she read in romance novels! No wavy hair to create that windblown scene—he didn't have _any_ hair. No gorgeous chiseled face with a single dimple on the chin because she would have to paint his face with an inch of makeup to conceal all those tattoos. No wit, no sarcasm, no pick-up lines, no catchphrase, no dirty jokes to make the women blush.

And yet, and yet… she couldn't help finding herself strangely drawn to him… so she stretched out her arms towards him.

Rasaad remained standing in the same pose, his arms crossed over his chest in that stiff, guarded stance, watching her with a straight face.

_Oh dear, he actually thinks I'm casting a spell._

"Uh, can I have a hug?"

"You want a _hug?_" He gave her one of his befuddled sorry-I-don't-speak-common-Common-language looks. He didn't do hugs, it seemed. Had he never been held? But he obliged as if it were his duty and stepped forward, unfolding his arms, though not appearing to know what to do with his hands. Arquen moved right up to him. Her hands touched his waist lightly as she slid her arms around his back.

He felt warm. Strong yet gentle. His toned, muscular body soft to the touch. How unexpected. How… comforting. She rested her forehead against his chest, trying to sense the rhythm of his heart. Slowly, he figured out that he ought to hold her too, and she felt his hands slide across her back. She lifted her head slightly and buried her nose against his chest. _Just being curious. Just wanting to get to know him a little better._ She breathed into his shirt deeply and was pleasantly surprised that he smelt so clean even after days of camping in the forest, with a faint hint of soap.

Yes, he was always going to be there for her.

"Thanks for being such a good friend, Rasaad," she said softly.

"I… I thank you, too."

Slowly, reluctantly, they broke apart the embrace and headed back to camp.

* * *

><p>How to piss off an elf royally? Rate a drow who didn't go by the name of "Drizzt" over them! After Arquen <em>cheerfully<em> informed the elves that Viconia was here to stay by favor of the majority, Kivan sulked the whole of the following day as they crossed over from the dense forests of Larswood into the clearings and ponds scattered across Peldvale.

Xan's temper erupted sometime in the late afternoon. "Hos before bros, is that it, Rasaad?" Xan hissed at the monk the minute Viconia stepped out of earshot. The drow had gone to wash her mace at a nearby pond after getting it splattered in blood from their latest run-in with a group of bandits. From his gritted teeth to the pronounced vein in his forehead, Arquen could tell that Xan had been keeping that in for awhile.

"Hoes? Sorry, Xan, I'm not very knowledgeable about farmlands and boroughs," Rasaad said, as clueless as ever.

"Gah! You're hopeless!" Xan threw his hands up in the air. He turned to Arquen, who returned his sneer with a smug smile.

"You wanted everyone's opinion and the majority has voted," she reiterated.

"Betrayed by a lawful good monk!" the enchanter grumbled under his breath as he stomped over to Kivan.

Despite his sulking and growling, Kivan's presence made a positive difference to the group. Sure, Rasaad could scout in the shadows, and possibly swing from tree to tree if they asked him to, but he was no ranger and couldn't read the animal tracks, distinguish wolf from bear dung, and paint with all the colors of the wind. As their encounters with groups of bandits roaming the area grew more frequent, between Kivan and Rasaad most of the bandits were taken down by arrows and stealth even before the rest of them could draw their weapons. Only Viconia continued to fish out her mace to beat at the various fallen bodies just to be doubly sure that it was rigor mortis setting in.

"We slay all who stand in our way to Tazok," Kivan said with a straight face as he set to work cutting off the scalps from the latest bandits. It had been a good way for the group to make some coffers so far. For every bandit scalp, they were paid fifty shiny gold pieces back at Beregost by the Flaming Fist. Where supply outstripped demand at the stores, the buying price was twenty-five gold pieces.

Arquen and Imoen watched him with morbid fascination as the elf sliced a good chunk of scalp off the deceased blonde human. He had cut away more flesh than was necessary, so he dissected it further, then tossed one half into a small sack and flung the other half into the air. An eagle circling overhead swooped down and caught the piece of free snack in midflight. The bird whistled its thanks at Kivan before flying away.

"While we appreciate that it's the most _straightforward_ route, could we try to minimize the carnage we leave in our wake?" Imoen asked, covering her nose with a hand as the mercurial smell of blood permeated the air.

"Is it wrong to kill bandits?" Kivan asked. He moved on to the second bandit, who had long brown dreadlocks. He tugged at three dreadlocks to locate the roots before slicing off the scalp cleanly. He tied the dreadlocks into a figure-of-eight knot before also tossing it into the small sack that contained all the other bandits' scalps.

It grossed Arquen out slightly to do so but she wanted Kivan to understand, so she pointed at the bandit's open eyes that had glassed over in death. "They could have been men with families to feed, and resorted to banditry out of desperation because of the high unemployment rate in Amn."

In an attempt at sensitivity for the girls' sake, Kivan closed the man's eyelids with the tip of his knife. He accidentally jabbed one eyelid a bit too deep though, and it pierced the thin skin instead, then prodded the eyeball when he tried to shake the blade loose. "Just because you have a name and are somewhat domesticated doesn't make you a higher being, especially if you have chosen the path of the fallen and lost all sense of humanity," Kivan muttered as he rolled the bandit onto his stomach.

As far as Arquen could understand, in Kivan's worldview, bandits basically fell into the same species as basilisks, cockroaches, vultures and Viconia – that which couldn't be eaten and could be exterminated without consequence. Deers, ducks, Imoen, Rasaad, Xan and other benign animals may be allowed to thrive, reared and go forth to multiply.

"I suppose an alternative would be to charm the leaders to hand over the information we need," Xan suggested.

"Even if we sent Rasaad in naked, I doubt he'd get very far," Imoen remarked.

Xan shot her a look. "Banish that filth from your mind! I was referring to actual charm and domination spells, of the enchantment school of magic."

"Oh."

Xan raised his hand to highlight his disclaimer. "Though I wish to state upfront that this method will most definitely fail and all of us will be captured, skinned alive and impaled on stakes from rear to throat."

Arquen groaned. Trust Xan to suggest a fairly intelligent solution and get everyone's hopes up, then crush all morale in the same breath. Not to mention he accidentally just bumped Kivan's shoulder as he stepped over the third dead bandit, causing the ranger to slice off half the man's ear with his sharp knife.

"Ugh," the ranger muttered, then chucked the ear at an ant hill. Arquen watched the ants lift the ear on their ant shoulders in a glee parade before disappearing into their nest with it. He put the last piece of scalp into the sack before tying it, shaking the sack a few times so all the contents wouldn't stick together at the bloodied bottom. He held up the small sack to them, but no one offered to carry it.

When Rasaad came over, naturally the sack went straight to him. The monk turned a little green as he held the sack between two fingers at arm's length.

"You have experience infiltrating the enemies' lines. What do you think we should do, Rasaad?" Arquen asked. She noticed Xan snorting rudely at the monk's presence. The enchanter was obviously going to hold a grudge against the monk for a while.

"We could use stealth and subterfuge to find the information we need, and leave without being detected. Unnecessary fighting can be avoided that way," Rasaad suggested.

"And who will do this? _You?_ You can't even bluff your way out of an _Old Maid_ card game!" Xan said acidly.

"_Enough of this foolishness, brother._ The forest tells me we are very close. We will locate the bandit camp within the hour, before nightfall," Kivan said in Elvish then Common.

It was decided that Kivan and Rasaad would find the bandit's camp, and return with as much as information as they could gather before any decision to battle was made.

"You shall be safe here if you do not show yourselves in the open," Kivan told the rest as they moved to a more secluded part of the forest. "The bandits are wary of the wild beasts, and I have made markings around our site. The animals will not bother you." (Imoen was curious about the markings but Arquen advised her they were better off not knowing.)

Rasaad put down his gear by a tree, and in a rare display of shrewdness, quickly passed the small sack of bandit scalps to Viconia, who nonchalantly tossed it on her pack as if it were a lunch bag.

Taking his ninjato, the monk darted off into the shadows of the forest with the wild elf.

* * *

><p>It was the longest hour she had ever experienced.<p>

Even Imoen seemed anxious, though her sister still managed to digest some pages of her spellbook, unlike herself. Symbols seemed to swirl around the page until they resembled Kivan and Rasaad's tattoo designs, which made her worry about the two men again.

Only Viconia seemed unaffected by the suspense as she snacked on the last of their supply of beef jerky while sitting next to Xan.

Arquen tried to distract herself by watching the enchanter and cleric. Though he claimed otherwise—vehemently—Arquen suspected Xan had actually developed a soft spot for Viconia, extending his clemency in a very unfairly way that wasn't extended to her and Imoen, and was never a consideration for Rasaad.

He appeared a lot more patient around the drow, and presently was content to let her look over his shoulder as he studied his spellbook, even taking the time to explain when she pointed at the page to ask questions like, "What does that symbol mean? The one that looks like a fat halfling parting his legs?"

Didn't he express his sentiment for the drow's dismissal on the day they first met, the night before, and just one hour ago? And now he was letting the drow peek at his _spellbook?_ How hypocritical! Arquen caught Imoen's eye and regarded the enchanter with a glare. Imoen glanced at him, saw his knee knock into Viconia's, met her eye again, and mouthed, "I know!"

Arquen would bet good money that it was likelier that the enchanter was trying to appease Kivan out of some sense of elfish piety, and was more annoyed at Rasaad for not siding with him than actual genuine dislike for the drow.

She felt her gut beginning to twist itself as the hour slipped into two, then three. Night crept upon them and Imoen helped to light a small fire. Even Viconia started to gaze into the distant darkness restlessly after Xan put his spellbook away.

Finally, Rasaad emerged from the darkness like a cloaked wraith, without warning and without so much as a leave rustle. He appeared right behind Xan, causing the elf to jump and almost fall face first into the campfire.

Intense relief washed over Arquen, and she had to restrain herself from throwing her arms over the monk.

"We found the camp," Rasaad said, lowering his hood. "Kivan has remained there to watch for Tazok."

Xan literally jumped to his feet this time. "YOU LEFT KIVAN AT THE BANDIT CAMP?"

"He refused to come back with me! I couldn't get him out of the tree so I hurried back as fast as I could, in half the time it took us to get there!"

"Unacceptable! You should have moved faster!"

"My apologies. As I was saying, we have located the camp, but we did not see the ogre," Rasaad reported. "It appears that various tribes and races have united.

"They hold a prisoner there, and we overheard the bandits discussing that Tazok plans to leave tomorrow night for a mine. They didn't say where, but if you wish to confront the ogre, then we must return to the camp this very night if we wish to use the cover of darkness. There are also some documents we can retrieve from main tent, but the chest is locked and trapped and beyond my skills."

"They're surely not beyond mine and Imoen's," Arquen said gingerly, exchanging nods with Imoen.

"Arquen?" Rasaad looked at her intently. "I do not know how dangerous this mission is, and if you will find the answers you are looking for."

Arquen bit her lip. The answer to why assassins were pursuing her and why Gorion was murdered and why all this began… had to lie with Tazok… right?

"If we don't find the answers, then death would be a great relief, won't it? And death will most certainly come," Xan pointed out.

Arquen sighed. "Ready your weapons. We are going to the camp."

Now that the route was laid down, Rasaad stalked ahead of the group, leading them through a dense series of trees that soon narrowed to a copse until they found themselves squeezing through trees. Though much larger in size than all of them, the monk moved swifter and more silently, light-stepping his way across the forest ground without so much as crunching the fallen leaves.

Soon they could see faint light in the distance, and Arquen felt her heart starting to pound.

"The main tent lies to the east," Rasaad turned around and whispered.

Arquen glanced around their group. Five seemed too many now, and, more importantly, she didn't want to put Imoen at risk.

"Immy, I think you should remain in the forest with Viconia."

"But—" her sister protested.

"Keep watch over us from the forest. Come to our aid only if things get desperate."

Arquen could only imagine that Imoen was feeling even more terrified than she was. She was just as reluctant to part with her sister, until Xan raised his hands and casted a spell over Imoen and Viconia. The girls disappeared before them. "There. You should be safe under the shelter of invisibility." He then casted the spell on Arquen, before vanishing himself.

Leaving Imoen and Viconia behind, Arquen followed the stealthy Rasaad closely, never letting him go farther than a few feet ahead. She knew Xan was behind or beside her somewhere, but simply knowing that was not as comforting as actually being able to see someone.

They arrived at the fringe of the camp, where Rasaad pointed out a shed with a dismantled wagon parked beside it. Scattered around were crates, barrels, sacks and all kinds of plunder. There was also a campfire surrounded by wooden stools by the shed, but presently no bandits were sitting around the fire. Further up was a guard post, with a man standing watch.

And in front of it was a huge tent, as wide and high as a circus tent but nowhere as inviting, set on a raised platform. Tazok's tent.

"Do you see Kivan at all?" she whispered.

Rasaad shook his head. There was a worried look on his face.

"Someone lingers over the tent," Xan mumbled. Arquen looked up at the imposing construction, and for a moment, she really thought the tall figure could be Kivan standing atop the dome structure of the tent.

"Corellon help me. It is not Kivan. It's a corpse. Three of them," Xan squeaked.

She swallowed hard. If that didn't convey the message that Tazok and his men were brutal, she didn't know what would. It would be a very tragic end indeed if they fell into Tazok's hands, and for once Xan's vivid morbid imagination of them being perfect replacements for the three rotting decorations was a real threat.

Fearlessly, Rasaad advanced to the shed, crouching by the barrels. From the shed, the monk dashed over to the raised platform and vaulted onto it soundlessly. He slipped behind a few tanning racks to stay out of sight.

Even though she was invisible, Arquen found herself still sneaking as she followed his steps. The raised platform was almost taller than she was, but having learnt some parkour tricks (the most impressive-looking ones, to show off) from the monk, she managed to scramble onto the platform. She slid next to Rasaad, nudging him to let him know where she was. They laid low and listened for the sounds to indicate that Xan was on his way up.

They heard the shuffling of fingers on the edge of the platform and boot against the beams.

Then 'thump!' on the ground.

The same sequence of sounds repeated as Xan tried again to climb up to the platform.

Another 'thump!' on the ground.

"I can't climb up," came a soft whine from below.

"You are invisible. You could just walk up the front steps," Rasaad whispered loudly.

The silent indignation was deafening—

—Followed by a very determined movement to scramble up the raised platform. Arquen could see various fingernail marks being eerily scratched on the planks about five inches long as the elf clawed at the platform.

Rasaad sighed. He crawled over to the edge, extending his hand to where he assumed Xan to be. Arquen could see some pressure being impressed on Rasaad's arm as Xan grabbed it.

And tugged just a bit too forcefully.

"No, Xan!" Rasaad hissed as the sudden jerk and what appeared to be the underestimated weight of the invisible (and supposedly skinny) elf pulled the monk right over the edge head first. Arquen felt her heart stop as Rasaad hit the ground.

But he managed to land in a spectacular—and more importantly, soundless—acrobatic roll.

However the sounds of 'thump', a tanning rack slamming against the earth, a bandit's pet cat screeching, shuffling feet and "Ow! Ow! Ow!" indicated that Xan was going to suffer from some bruises in the morning.

The noise also did not go unnoticed this time. Two bandits on their watch rushed over with their torches.

From the platform, Arquen's heart pounded to her ears in fear as she watched Rasaad scurrying about below her. Xan was still invisible so the enchanter was safe, but the very visible monk had to do something—_fast!_

Like a chameleon, Rasaad slipped back into the shadows by darting among piles of barrels, crates, animal hides and sacks. Even though Arquen was just above him, his movements were so swift that she had to keep trailing him with her eyes or risk losing sight of him. In moments he had squeezed himself between some tanning racks, using his hands to feel his way around as he kept a watchful eye on the bandits searching for him. As the men approached, he slowly snaked his way through barrels to stay out of their light, feeling around the haystacks, as if becoming one with the objects.

He would have remained perfectly hidden in the shadows. Until—

"RASAAD YOUR HAND IS ON MY CROTCH!"

"What kind of sordid night romping goes on back here!" The bandits raised their torches over the source of the impossibly high octave scream, their bright flames causing even Arquen to flinch.

The blinding light revealed the monk amongst the haystacks, one of his hands grasping at straws (literally) and the other pressed downwards with his full weight against a raised unseen mount he was attempting to climb over, which appeared to be the invisible crotch.


	5. 5: Xan

_I am dying_…

Xan laid in a fetal position, trying to regain control over his body. He had never experienced such excruciating pain that rendered him paralyzed.

The monk had crushed him with his full large-size human weight. Of all the possible hiding places—inside a barrel, under animal hides, even running away at his top speed of thirty-five miles per hour—Rasaad _had_ to climb on top of HIS CROTCH.

The pain in his crotch… was still throbbing. Xan pushed himself up on his knees, steadying himself against a haystack, taking shallow breaths through clenched teeth.

It was futile. He couldn't get to his feet. All he could do was sit with his back against the haystack, and watch with insulting delight the monk trying to worm his way out of his impending doom.

"We'll not fight you. In fact, we want to join your group!" Rasaad was squeaking to the group of bandits that had surrounded him in a semi-circle, with arrows, bolts, spears and a raised scythe (wielded by a skeletal-looking figure in a black robe) trained on him.

"It's a bloodthirsty job you have, and we like the killin'! Let us join and the roads will run red 'neath our feet!" he rattled on, his Calishite accent going off-kilter.

Subterfuge, his foot! Xan wasn't kidding when he said the monk couldn't even bluff his way out of an _Old Maid_ card game. It was true! They played twenty rounds of _Old Maid_ once and Rasaad lost every single time because everyone figured out his changed expression (if he were a dog, he would've started wagging his tail in a circular motion) whenever he had the Jester card in his hand. Later on someone slipped in a second Jester into the deck and somehow he still managed to lose.

_Ugh!_ Xan managed to pull himself up to a kneeling position this time, resting his forehead against his arms and propping himself up on the haystack.

_The pain_… _It burns_… The monk _deserved_ to be executed for this!

Then, unexpectedly, the bandits roared with laughter.

"You scare me, but I like your fire!" the bandit in front said as he lowered his weapon. "Now who was that screaming bitch with you? We didn't see the ring snatcher!"

"That's, er, just an Evereskan… moonblade-wielding… enchanter…"

WHAT THE—?

Defying the pain, Xan shifted to a stack of crates and poked his head over them. He resisted the urge to reveal his position by firing an acid arrow at Rasaad for attempting to sully his homeland, heritage _and_ occupation like that.

"There's a famous moonblade wielder from Evereska I know of, and that's the Greycloak, Xan," one of the bandits said.

Xan felt his eyebrows hitting his circlet as he recognized that shady elf bandit. It was his former kindergarten classmate! A bully back then who sat at the back of the class and used to steal his crayons. He knew even two hundred years ago that the elf was bad news. But that rogue was well-connected – he had twenty siblings of various political and social standings, including the Greycloaks. If word ever got back to Evereska about him being "involved" with some exhibitionist monk, that was it. The reputation he had worked so hard to garner over the CENTURIES would be tarnished! DESTROYED!

Xan pulled himself up to his feet with iron-will determination and dispelled his invisibility. He left his hiding place and staggered into the crowd of murderers and hardened criminals. If he was going to die tonight, he wanted to die with an unsullied name!

The bandits turned and greeted him with loud whistles and hoots. "Ooo imagine you fisting that one!" someone cheered to a series of loud catcalls.

Xan resisted the urge to gut Rasaad with his moonblade as he slid up next to the monk. Even though Rasaad was much taller than him, he propped his elbow on the boy's shoulder, to show that whatever the circumstance, _he_ was the alpha male here, the elder, the one in charge, the one on top. The monk would just have to shut up, submit, slay the dragon and suck it all up, or else!

(It then occurred to him that the above didn't come out sounding the way he wanted it to sound, but he had already telepathically implanted it into all the minds of the bandits before them.)

"It _is_ you, Xan!" his ex-kindergarten classmate exclaimed.

Xan narrowed his eyes at the elf and cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? I'm sorry, but I've never seen you before in my life."

"You used to sit in the corner by yourself and you had no friends, remember? We called you 'Princess Xanax'! I knew you were a back door bandit even back then!"

His jaw hurt to do so but Xan kept his smile wide as he locked eyes with the bandit and didn't release his gaze, penetrating the wall of thought and memory, breaking it down, filling the space with blank images and the words "I am a chicken" repeatedly.

The bandit blinked stupidly. Then he started clucking, flapped his arms and bounced away from the group. Xan knew tonight's incident would be a blank to him tomorrow. Perhaps even his kindergarten memories too would be wiped out, like his first day at school or even how to spell his own name. Oh well, too bad for him.

A wave of hushed, nervous whispers sailed through the crowd as the bandits parted and a menacing hulk stomped his way through.

One look told Xan that the hideous brute was Tazok, with a face even a mother could not love. Xan was sure this was the case because up close, he realized Tazok was actually a _half_-ogre, likely a product of rape with serious abandonment issues evident and written in that "I hate mothers!" badge on his plate mail armor.

Still the half-ogre was huge, towering in at almost eight feet tall, and he cast a shadow over Xan completely as he stood before them. His two-handed sword glinted brutally.

They were most definitely going to die. Xan gulped, feeling his legs become jelly and his crotch injury all but forgotten.

"I say now I don't like you!" the half-ogre pointed his weapon at them and yelled, his breath with the stink of unflossed carrion. "Give me reason to not have you broth-boiled and use your skin to swaddle my small-kin! Who are you that I should let you join?!"

Rasaad stood with his arms crossed but shrilled, "We're strong, well armed—" So said the unarmed unarmored man. "—and we know opportunity when we see it! What better job be there for us? Dungeon crawling? That's fools' work!"

To Xan's surprise (again), Tazok bought the monk's words as he furrowed his brow. "Hmmm. You have some sense, but I have many a strong back here already. What for I need you?'" he asked, sticking the tip of his sword into the ground, skewering a beetle.

Xan quickly said ahead of Rasaad, "Would you rather have too few and need more, or have too many and not need them at all?"

Tazok blinked, trying to digest that line.

"Eh? You sure are big on words," the half-ogre remarked, scratching his head. Dandruff fell. Then, to Xan's utter relief, he pulled his weapon away.

"You better be big on the battlefield too, 'cuz if you're not, you die." Tazok started to leave, dismissing them as if he was already bored with their presence. He turned around just to cast his foul breath over them once more. "You have run of the camp. If I hear ONE bad thing from Ardenor and Taugosz, I personally feed your livers to the crows!"

Xan wiped the cold sweat from his brow. Beside him Rasaad too let out a sigh of relief.

So now they were free to roam the camp! He believed Arquen had been standing watch all this while from the raised platform around Tazok's tent, or the shrewd girl may have even snuck into the tent already during all the commotion. Either way, they live another hour!

But of course, just a moment after Xan thought they weren't doomed, just before Tazok reached the steps to the raised platform, Kivan emerged from the tent with a now-visible Arquen.

Xan and Rasaad gasped as they regarded the two. A line of blood was sprayed across Arquen's forehead and her wild-eyed expression was one of panic. Xan had noticed that the half-elf tended to go emotionally off tangent during battles, like that time when she was held down by a gnoll. Hallmarks of inexperience with violent battles and life on the road in general.

Her blood-covered face therefore was a bad, bad sign that they would suffer her ways of dealing with post-traumatic stress, should they survive the night.

As for Kivan, the wild elf was drenched in blood. His face looked as if he sweated blood out of his pores; his leather armor and frayed cloak dripping crimson. Unlike Arquen though, he seemed on fire by whatever that had occurred inside the tent.

And he was carrying three freshly decapitated heads by their hair. More blood dripped onto the carpeted entrance of the tent.

Kivan didn't look just like a wild man – he looked like a MAD man on the warpath to Tazok. His intense glare narrowed in on the half-ogre as he snarled, bearing his teeth like fangs (fortunately still white. Xan would have to declare a Section VIII dismissal if Kivan had descended to cannibalism). He flung the three heads down the platform steps, splattering blood and loose flesh in various directions. A gnoll's head bounced down the wooden steps and rolled to a stop at Tazok's feet.

"You killed all but one of my elite men!" Tazok was outraged.

"I slayed your men as they laid down to sleep. It is unfortunate that I missed one," Kivan sneered as he drew his long swords.

"Who are you, elf?" the half-ogre demanded, readying his own two-handed sword.

Bandits started surrounding them again slowly. A fight was inevitable now. Beside him, Rasaad raised his fists. Xan felt a wave of heat next to him as flames started to swirl around the monk. He swallowed hard, mumbling his armor spell to surround him as he drew his moonblade.

"I am Kivan of Shilmista! Your gravest mistake was when you failed to slay me on the day you tortured my wife to death!" Kivan started down the steps. "Tonight I will avenge Deheriana!"

Kivan launched himself at Tazok just as a beam of fiery light from Rasaad's palm blasted itself into a group of bandits. The night sky lit up for a second.

Then men and arrows swarmed in on them from every direction, and Xan thought of the goriest ways they would meet their end tonight.

* * *

><p>"Those who are not fully men have betrayed the alliance, monsters that they are," Xan hissed at the group of five rough-looking men, holding his right hand up.<p>

The humans blinked at him, then he saw their eyes clouding over slightly as he bent their thoughts to his will.

"The intruders are not the true enemy here, but the foul hobgoblins and gnolls!" one of the men yelled as he charged towards the hobgoblins' tent to the west. His companions followed suit, and their archer planted an arrow into a hobgoblin's neck, which caused the demihumans to cry out in confusion.

_That will distract them for awhile,_ Xan thought as he glanced over at Tazok's large tent to the east section of the camp again.

The half-ogre was still in fierce battle with Kivan on the grounds. Throwing his men in front of Kivan's path did not dissuade or tire the wild elf, who only cut them down as he kept his focus on acquiring his prized kill. Nearby Rasaad was engaged in crowd control as he knocked bandits and their weapons down, occasionally setting people on fire with his Sun Soulray.

Xan kept the west portion of the bandit camp in total disarray as he set the marauders against each other and also dispersed groups in clouds of panic and confusion with his spells. However the numbers were great and they could not risk having the bandits reassemble properly or their band would be overwhelmed.

"Watch out!" a girlish voice screamed.

Before he could locate Imoen, a ball of fire exploded right next to Tazok's tent, setting at least half a dozen bandits ablaze. Even Rasaad hit the ground, his own circle of fire blazing brighter momentarily from being licked by the fireball.

_Little pink-haired Imoen just casted a fireball?_

In that brief moment, a surge of pride hit Xan in the chest. It must be akin to what his parents felt when he took his first step as a toddler. He had always known Imoen was gifted, was much cleverer and committed in grasping the language of magic than her sister, but he wasn't sure if she could manage such an incredible evocation yet, and as an enchanter he had been unable to teach her.

Then at the top of the platform, a jet of flames appeared from Arquen's hands, razing through a line of bandits until they were effectively roasted.

Xan could almost feel tears in his eyes from all the dancing flames on burning men, plunder and wagons. He felt newfound appreciation for the young, uncontrollable pyromaniacs in his midst. They may just win this fight!

He ducked as a hobgoblin took a swipe at him with its battleaxe, then sliced the creature's belly open with his moonblade. Moving quickly, he set his sight on another group of bandits, and sent a wave of eerie shadows over them. They dropped their swords screaming, and fled the campground altogether.

Another group of bandits shrieked nearby. It wasn't caused by one of his spells, which prompted Xan to turn around. From the thicket to the southeast, Viconia strolled into the grounds almost in a casual manner, with her mace tucked above a shoulder. With her cloak removed, her fine drow form (and it was very fine indeed) caused the men to scream "Drow! They are going to kill us all!", soil themselves and flee into the wilderness. Xan wondered if he should stop memorizing fear spells from now on and simply get Viconia to walk into any crowd they needed to disperse. Did it offend the vain drow to have such an effect on people? Regardless, Viconia relished the opportunity to doom the remaining bandits with her spells, then bash them with her mace to put in the finishing touches.

His worry shifted back to Kivan. As Xan neared the melee, he could see the ranger's strikes at Tazok being too eager, too unmeasured.

And then Kivan let out a terrifying scream as missiles struck him repeatedly. He dropped his swords and fell to the ground. Tazok gave his unresponding body a kick and dashed quickly to a mage, who had begun casting a hurricane-like swirl around Tazok and himself.

Xan ran towards it, as did the rest of them, but they knew it was futile as the swirl quickly dissipated before their eyes, taking the half-ogre and his mage with him to gods know where.

Before them, the battle ground was a gruesome scene of bodies burnt, bloodied or broken. To the west were still sounds of conflict between humans and demihumans, but the east had now fallen into an eerie calm.

Viconia hurried over to Kivan and dropped to her knees, throwing herself into her clerical responsibilities before any personal antagonism against the wild elf. She touched Kivan's throat, which was as bloodied as his face.

"He lives still!" she declared, and immediately set to loosening the wild elf's armor. Xan was surprised that the half-ogre didn't just sliced Kivan in half when he had the chance to make sure he'd finished the job.

Xan turned to the three youngsters. "Search the tent quickly to see what you can find, and let us be done with this place!" Xan ordered. Imoen and Rasaad nodded, but Arquen shook her head fervently, that wild-eyed expression returning. Xan sighed, but understood that the half-elf didn't want to face whatever was inside the tent again, which he suspected probably included three headless mangled bodies. Imoen and Rasaad disappeared into the tent while Arquen stayed outside. Xan would follow them later if he must; but first he needed to tend to his kinsman.

As Viconia chanted a long healing spell over Kivan, Xan knelt down beside her to wipe Kivan's face. It was hard to see the ranger's injuries through all the blood and grime. He soiled several cloths from Viconia's healing kit before Kivan's facial tattoos were fully visible again.

Slowly, Kivan started to wheeze, then coughed, his life spark returning. The elf opened his eyes, and the first thing he must've seen was Viconia hovering over him.

He swung a hand at the drow's face and knocked her right over sideways.

"Kivan! Viconia is healing you!"Xan cried, grabbing him by the wrist.

"I'd rather die than be touched by the foul creature!" Kivan still managed to snap in his weakened state. He then attempted a kick at the drow. Xan held him down by his shoulders and, short of casting a Sleep spell, managed to get the wild elf to stay down.

He looked over his shoulders to see Viconia bent over on her knees, a hand holding her face, shoulders heaving. Her face was obscured by her long, silvery white hair. When she removed her hand, Xan saw a patch of blood on it.

She clenched her fist, trembling slightly, then stood up with a glare in their direction.

_Of all the time to turn the drow against us._ Xan braced himself for Viconia to attempt a strike at Kivan.

But instead, she walked away from them quietly, going around the tent, her hand still over her face.

He would have to appease her later, Xan thought with a sigh.

"Arquen! You need to perform your healing over Kivan!" Xan turned and barked at the half-elf, who stood around looking dazed. She shook her head, as if afraid to be anywhere near the wild elf. Xan softened his tone to coax her again. "I'll make do first with a healing potion, but if he still has any deep wounds, I need your spells to patch them."

Together the task seemed less overwhelming for the half-elf, and she kneeled beside him. Kivan let out a guttural cry as a light glow emanated from the half-elf's palm over his body.

"Are you alright?" Xan asked quietly. Unlike Viconia or other healers, Arquen's innate ability to heal was unknown magic. On another occasion, Xan would've scrutinized her methods closely to ascertain the source of her magic, to investigate her claims that "I just woke up one morning and found out I could heal", but not tonight.

The half-elf nodded, though somewhat uncertainly. "In the tent earlier, Kivan was… very angry," she said softly. "This is the first time I've ever seen someone so… consumed by anger."

Xan swallowed, maintaining a calm look as best he could. _Violent outbursts and decapitations committed by goodly companions do happen. Get over it,_ was something he obviously couldn't tell her right then. With every battle they fought, the violence escalated, the threat of death greater, the meaning of life… well, more meaningless. Xan shook his head. The non-elves should be grateful for their short lifespan.

He decided to distract her. "Did you find any documents in the tent? What about the prisoner Rasaad mentioned?"

"Yes. Kivan smashed the chest open and… I didn't know bodies could be flattened to an inch thin. Yes to the prisoner also. But this is hardly the time for detective work, is it?" The half-elf now seemed focused on the task in front of her as she tried to pull Kivan to a sitting position.

"Arquen," Xan said softly, getting her to look at him. "You did very well tonight with your cunning and your magic. You casted Aganazzar's Scorcher, didn't you? I'm very impressed."

Arquen offered him a small grin, even smiling over Kivan's growling before them.

Imoen and Rasaad reemerged from the tent with a shady-looking man dressed from head to boot in black, who could have passed for one of the bandits. "I picked my enemies and I messed with one group and one group only—the Iron Throne," he was telling them.

"The Iron Throne. Where can I find them?" Imoen asked with a frown.

"Tazok's been making regular visits to the Cloakwood, so that's where I'd start if I were you," Tazok's prisoner told the group as he pulled on his black hood. "Now go step on some toes, all right? And you can tell them Ender Sai sent you." He picked up a dagger and long sword from one of the dead bandits, then relieved some bodies of their gear, before he disappeared into the night. Imoen and Rasaad watched the man go before coming over to hover over Kivan as well.

"What else did you uncover inside the tent?" Xan asked the two.

"Naught else. It was kinda messy. Lots of organs… on the wall, minced, and stuff," Imoen said, and Xan noticed how green she looked. Even Rasaad looked a little troubled, and he was someone who killed with his bare hands.

Xan sighed, and told them to take care of Kivan. It was the best time for him to slip away and tend to the drow.

He found her behind Tazok's tent, looting a body in the dark impatiently. For some reason, he had to keep telling himself that the girls looted bodies in the same manner as well, and just because Viconia was drow it shouldn't seem twice as unnerving.

"Viconia?" he called to her.

She looked up at him with a glare, violet orbs shining in the night.

"What do you want, elf?"

Xan sighed. This wasn't going to be easy, or pleasant.

"I apologize for Kivan's behavior. It was uncalled for, but I hope you will forgive the man for his distressed state. Are you… hurt?"

"I just used my last healing spell on that fool and how does he show his gratitude? By striking my face."

Xan studied her face, features in the shade of darkness, but always alluring, as if gazing into the night sky with the beauty and mystery of the moon and stars. There was a cut on her upper lip, making her pout swollen. Blood smeared across a cheek and stained her pale hair.

Sometimes he envied Kivan's kill-on-sight perspective, or Rasaad's love-your-enemies philosophy, instead of approaching things from such… an oblique angle. Still, in all fairness the drow was carrying out her clerical duty and Kivan had wantonly lashed out at her.

He held out a healing potion to her. Viconia snatched it from his hand and drank the entire potion quickly, fingering her lip to reassure herself that her face was healing.

Xan searched his pockets in hope of a small bandage or kerchief somewhere that he could give to her, but found none. So he pulled the sleeve of his robe until the fabric slipped over his fingers. Stepping up to the drow, he raised his clothed hand. "There's still blood on your face," he told her, though she continued glaring at him. He wiped her cheek and the side of her lips with his sleeve. Surprisingly, she stood still and let him touch her face.

"Perhaps I ought to consider drinking the blood of elves, to reinforce the notion of my evil ways," she said crossly from behind his sleeve.

"Perhaps you should consider that not all elves are the same."

"Are you so different from Kivan?"

Xan sighed but said nothing, focusing on his cleaning task under her scowl. What could he say? Labels he could tag himself with were: Greycloak, Evereskan, Wielder of a Moonblade, and Enchanter. To which she would probably respond with: "Mine is brown", "All surface scum", "So?", and "You fail to enchant me". There were no other redeeming qualities he could think of to highlight to her.

When he had wiped away all the blood from her face, he studied Viconia's face for a moment. He didn't need to read her expression or thoughts deeply to see anger. A lot of it. Bitterness. And hurt. Evil though she may be, she was still capable of feeling hurt like any other person.

"Let us not linger here any further," he said.

She gave him a final scowl but followed him back to their companions from a distance.

Kivan, though looking weak, was already marching determinedly ahead. "We head for Cloakwood," he growled.

_"Kivan, we must first recuperate. Let us return to town with news to the Flaming Fist," _Xan said sharply to him in Elvish, wishing the wild elf to act more reasonably.

_"I do not wish to waste any time with city-dwelling officials whose incompetence will not lead us to justice."_

_"We would fare better together, as you once said to us."_

_"Perhaps in the presence of fairer companions." _He eyed Viconia harshly. In response, the drow looked like she wanted to spit in his face.

_"If you wish my comradeship, I shall be in Cloakwood. Perhaps I will find the Iron Throne first, judging by the sluggishness of this band." _

Kivan gave a small bow to the group, and just as suddenly as he had arrived in their midst, he disappeared again into the wilderness.

* * *

><p><em>"Shipments of ore are being made to the Iron Throne's base in Cloakwood, a secret mine that we aim to locate,"<em> Xan informed the young Greycloak agent, an overly enthusiastic elf who nodded fervently as they stood in a secluded spot of Beregost, just south of the fountain that night.

He handed him his latest report. _"Gorion's ward continues to be sought, for reasons unknown, though now we know her seeker's name to be Sarevok."_

The young Evereskan tucked the parchment into a case, and adjusted his newly fitted armor. _"By the way, my lord, it was brought to my attention that you have acquired the acquaintanceship of a Sun Soul Monk in your journeys."_

_"Amn is plagued by raiders and on the brink of war and the only question on your mind is regarding my acquaintances?!"_ Xan said in an exasperated tone. Honestly! New recruits nowadays!

_"It was but rumors I heard, my lord. You need not be so defensive!"_ The elf gave him a suspicious smile anyway. _"Oh, look! There he is!"_ The elf's smile became a pointy-ear-to-pointy-ear grin as Rasaad caught sight of them standing by the trees and strolled over.

_"Be on your way! NOW!"_ Xan barked, shooing him away with a flick of his hand. Rasaad stopped a few feet away to watch the young elf wink at him, then bounce down the fringes of Beregost. The monk's expression was one of deep puzzlement.

"Why are you outside, Rasaad?" Xan asked with a sigh. He rubbed his temples to soothe the headache he seemed to have developed suddenly. Yet again he considered handing in his resignation to the Greycloaks.

"Arquen told me to come get you," the monk replied.

"Yes, yes, let us return to the tavern. I had to come outside to… attend to some matters."

As they walked up the road to the Jovial Juggler, Xan could guess the question burning in Rasaad's head even before the monk asked, "Why do all elves act so strange—"

"Why don't you contemplate this in silence?" Xan snapped.

"I shall," the monk said no more and remained obediently mute as he walked by his side.

Xan sighed again, this time feeling a little guilty for snapping at the innocent boy. He didn't actually hate the monk or anything like that (and anyway the opposite of love was not hate, but indifference). It was just impossible to talk to Rasaad without the right mood, background color and blood pressure level if he didn't want to trigger any suicidal thought.

He recalled one of their earliest conversations:

_"Rasaad, what is your mother like?" _

_"I never knew her. She died giving birth to me." _

_"I am SO sorry to hear that. What about your father? How does he fare?" _

_"My father was consigned to the Arena Efreetum to fight to his death when I was six. My brother and I watched." _

_"That is horrible! Were you at least taken to an orphanage thereafter to be fed and sheltered?"_

_"No. My brother and I were left to eke out a living for ourselves on the streets. There were days when I didn't eat a morsel."_

_"At the very least you have your brother. Take comfort that you are not all alone in this world, Rasaad, no matter how cruel it seems." _

_"Gamaz died not so long ago in his own pool of blood."_

Xan recalled how he wanted to stick his butter knife up his nose then and headbutt the table just to end his despair with the world and how cruel life could be to those who least deserved it. As if all that tragedy was not cruel enough, the monk would meet Arquen, sealing his fate.

When they got back to The Jovial Juggler, the aforementioned jinx welcomed them back at their table by holding up two goblets.

"This wine is for you, Xan!" Xan accepted the goblet before its contents spilt all over his tunic.

"And this is some juice dyed with red food coloring!" Arquen pushed the goblet into the monk's hand as Xan retched. _  
><em>

"Let's make a toast! Even if Viconia isn't here!"

Viconia had refused to dine at the tavern with them tonight since they were meeting Officer Vai from the Flaming Fist to inform her about the location of the bandit camp should she wish to send a group of bandit scalp collectors on a mission. Moreover the drow had also been in a fouler-than-usual mood since the incident with Kivan.

The half-elf stood up clumsily and spilt some of her drink on Imoen's dress. The girls' emotions, Arquen's in particular, had been riding high since the bandit camp. To an extent, he felt sorry for them for uncovering more mysteries, instead of answers, as to why Arquen was being personally pursued by a man named Sarevok, whoever he was, who appeared to have a great involvement in the iron crisis. Not to mention her witnessing of the extent of Kivan's violence ("I didn't know our innards could be used as a lasso," she mentioned during their march back to Beregost) followed by his abandoning their group.

"Now then. Let's celebrate another mystery to the plot," Arquen launched into one of her melodramatic acts as she sloshed her drink around in her goblet. "All I wanted for my life was to be the resident rogue at Candlekeep and breed seven babies. But here I am, a wanted man—sorry, _wo_man—on an epic treasure hunt!"

"From Candlekeep to Cloakwood!" Imoen cheered as she tipped her head backwards to swallow her drink. Whatever Arquen did, Imoen would always follow suit as her partner-in-crime. Setting traps, eating cake, casting lightning bolts, twirling daggers, everything. Tweedledumb and Tweedledeet. Best friends forever. Arquen and Imoen.

"DOWN YOUR GOBLETS NOW!" Arquen ordered all of them, grabbing a dinner knife as a threat.

_Patience with the children. All this is just symptoms of post-traumatic stress,_ Xan told himself as he raised his goblet without a smile. Ugh. Even the wine seemed to have gone bitter with his mood.

He sighed to himself as he watched the tavern activities about him. Jaded people drinking their lives away. Bards singing woeful tunes on failing to make it big in the city. Flighty girls like Arquen and Imoen who suddenly stumbled into life on the road and were unable to cope.

Then again, he thought with a sigh as Arquen refilled his goblet, though the girls were young, they were no more than two years younger than Rasaad. In some ways, he wished they could _behave_ (note: not converse) more like the monk. Civilized in comparison, faultlessly hygienic, an impeccable cook, knew when to say "please" and "thank you", creepily quiet at times, like now.

Xan glanced at the monk to see him slumped against the table, head buried in one arm, the other arm stretched out holding onto a toppled goblet.

The girls squealed in laughter.

Oh no! They couldn't… wouldn't…

"YOU GOT RASAAD DRUNK?"

Their maniacal nods confirmed it, also confirming their own escalating drunkenness.

"Why would you do something like this?" Xan screamed next.

Arquen looked at him with crazed reddened turquoise eyes. "Because I am _doomed_, as you would say!" she slurred. She threw her arm around Imoen and rustled the girl's pink hair. "Candlekeep has shut its doors on us! We march onwards, to futility!"

_We are going to get ourselves killed!_ Xan elbowed the monk's side to try to rouse him. It was dangerous to tempt fate with the polite, quiet ones! You never know what they might do when they actually erupt! He might rampage through the tavern raping furniture, or, worse, try to dance and sing. None of them would have the strength to subdue him and he was immune to most of their spells.

"Hmm?" Rasaad sat up and turned to Xan with the perennial empty thought bubble over his head. Xan looked into the monk's glazed brown eyes.

And all at once this warm and fuzzy feeling overwhelmed him inside as he gazed upon the hapless boy with fierce parental instincts.

"I want to adopt you, Rasaad!" Xan couldn't stop himself from declaring.

The monk's eyes shone with tears. "I've always wanted a mother!" he sniffed.

The two of them clutched at each other's arms with affection that had gone unsaid and unexpressed for far too long.

_What am I doing?_

Xan let go of the monk, letting him slump back over the table, and stared at the girls again. Their movements seemed to have slowed considerably as they giggled and combed their hairs with forks. The plucking of the bard's mandolin nearby seemed to synchronize with his heartbeat. He made the connection between his wine and the spiraling of emotions he would otherwise never feel.

"What did you put inside my wine?" he demanded.

"Some alchemy components that I combined in a cocktail shaker!" Arquen beamed proudly.

Xan was about to shout at the half-elf when his outrage suddenly vanished like a popped bubble. In its place was the feeling of awe in coming face to face with perfection. Arquen had always had the high score on his Beautiful Dumb Blonde checklist, with double entries for "Dumb". Now he could also include "'I'm so drunk' mating call". Should he heed that call?

He crossed his legs and shook his head roughly to perish the thought. He was _not_ going to seduce their leader. He tried to focus on Imoen instead, the rabid pink-haired girl who was now singing a nursery rhyme.

_Mmm… jailbait…_

Xan jumped from his seat, knocking over his goblet and spilling the wine on Rasaad's sleeping face.

No, no, no, no! An enchanter must _never_ lose control of his own thoughts and will and emotions. He had to get away! He pushed himself away from the table, leaving the girls' laughter trailing behind him.

He fled as quickly as he could upstairs, holding on to the banisters to steady himself. The stairs were swimming as if he was onboard a turbulent ship. When he reached the door, he pulled out his key and started trying to fit it into the keyhole, which seemed to be a lot more difficult than he remembered. The key kept sliding to the doorframe and scratching the doorknob.

Then the door opened on its own.

In the room stood the very familiar and very angry figure of Viconia, mace in hand and violet eyes unleashing the fury of all nine hells.

"Why are you trying to break into my room, you insolent elf!" she snarled.

A snarl so befitting her. For Viconia, unlike the half-elf and human, was all WOMAN. Angry, bitter, sensual, experienced, I've-never-been-to-me woman, drow or no.

Xan stood at the doorway in stunned tribute.

"I love the way you snarl," he blurted.

The narrowed silvery-white eyebrows shifted upwards. The glare turned inquisitive, another alluring feature of hers that he had come to know as she revealed her curiosity about the surface world. Like how flowers confused her, or if the edibility of animals could be determined by their fluffiness. Which meant he got to explain and teach her a lot of things, and unlike the girls Viconia would always do her homework.

She tossed her mace aside—oh so fiercely, as if it were a piece of lingerie—and folded her arms across her chest, giving her already generous cleavage a further boost. Sustaining eye contact was proving extremely difficult.

"If I told you that you have a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?" he couldn't help saying next, and in his mind he truly believed he was oh so witty.

"It appears our morose elf is intoxicated," Viconia said with a glint in her eyes. Violet orbs that were like a gateway into a world of which he wanted to be a part of. Or stumble into, for his head felt as heavy as lead. He clamped his hands on the doorframe. Did he look like a madman, leaning at the doorway like that? He searched Viconia's face for signs of disproof or an impending attack, but she just stood there, breaking down the walls to _his_ world with her gaze.

"So tell me what is on your mind. An enchanter must have the most curious of secrets," she purred in her sultry voice.

What could he tell her? That he had been waiting to see her kill a random person without cause, sometimes using Rasaad as bait? That he had left gems lying around for her to steal but Arquen and Imoen had always gotten to them first? That his pursuit to prove her treacherous to their band and pronounce just execution had been so far been futile?

Not only that, he just realized his feelings about her had actually changed—_mutated—_since he first rescued her from the Flaming Fist mercenary. All that suspicion and horror and anti-drow crusade that usually felt unpleasant and tasted sour in his mouth seemed to have gone. Transformed into something he couldn't properly describe other than how it blew him away completely.

"Viconia… you… blow… me…" Xan wanted her to know but started to slur, his head now functioning at half its rate.

Instead of punching him between his eyes, Viconia came even closer.

"Is that truly what you desire?" The alluring drow murmured, their faces just inches apart now.

Xan parted his lips. They felt wet because his tongue had gone numb and he was trying to keep it inside his mouth. Was he drooling? He had better not be drooling!

Was she inviting him to kiss her? A kiss on her pouty lips? Oh gods! Another strike off his bucket list! Hedonism at its finest! His first kiss!

Then he was knocked into ebony unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>Xan awoke sometime the following day when the sunlight started baking his face through the window.<p>

He blinked at the blinding light. Slowly the room became less foggy and he recalled the sensation of lying in a double bed with a hard pillow under his head.

Such terrible quality and housekeeping standards for supposed deluxe noble room standards, Xan thought with a groan as he tried to adjust the pillow into a more comfortable position that wouldn't strain his neck like so.

Only to discover that the hard pillow wasn't a pillow at all but someone's thigh.

He pulled his head up with a jolt and gripped his fists.

In his left hand was something about eight inches long, smoothed to the touch, stiff and hard with a rounded tip.

Xan almost let out a scream, when he realized it was the grip of his moonblade.

His heart resumed beating as he slid his precious sword over the thigh and next to him, a little surprised that the sheets weren't bloodied from him fighting off an enemy before promptly passing out, or rolling over the sharp blade.

Now for the presence of the thigh… The body it belonged to had somehow accomplished the feat of sleeping stretched out diagonally across the double bed, feet sticking over the edge but still wrapped in the blanket, which wound around the legs like a winding sheet, finally tucked in just below an exposed navel. Above the belly button, the body managed to retain some sense of modesty as a pillow laid across it, covering even the face. One arm dangled over the other side of the bed lifelessly, and the other arm flopped over the smothering pillow.

As his vision cleared, Xan recognized the muscular arm by its swirl tattoos, beaded wristband and a pink and baby blue friendship bracelet Imoen tied on that could only be taken off with a Remove Curse spell.

He. Was. In. Bed. With. Rasaad.

A chill ran down his spine and wafted up to spread across his chest, arms and shoulders.

Wait a moment… That didn't make sense. Xan wrapped his arms around his body.

And realized with horror that the chillness was not due to fear but him not wearing his tunic. He only had his trousers on.

Oh gods ... He looked again at the exposed navel. It had an obscene come-hither appearance with the blanket strategically positioned below it a bit too dangerously low. If the monk was also naked waist down… something awful had happened last night for sure.

And Xan _had_ to know for sure. If the monk was indeed naked, he would have to hack his body into pieces with his moonblade, then set fire to the room to dispose all evidence of this incident ever occurring, no questions asked. He would climb out the window and go live in a cave in the Spine of the World for the rest of his days.

With great fear and trepidation, Xan reached over the navel, down the treasure trail of hair (just in case anyone wondered, the bald monk was not a blonde but brunette), and tugged the blanket lower.

The monk still had his trousers on.

Xan breathed a tremendous sigh of relief.

Now to check if Rasaad was alive or dead.

With the pillow laid over his face and body, it was hard to tell. The monk wasn't a snorer (though he could recite Selunite faith tenets word-by-word at great lengths, which Xan found to be more infuriating than people who snorted and asphyxiated in their sleep). Xan lifted his wrist, pushed the pink and blue friendship bracelet aside, and felt around for a pulse.

There was still a heartbeat, albeit irregular, but the monk was definitely alive. He dropped the limp wrist back on the pillow.

How in the world did they end up like this?

His last memory of the night was… nearly, literally, coming face to face with the drow.

DID HE KISS VICONIA?

Strangely, the thought didn't repulse him, even this morning. (Also he would be sorrier for not remembering such a momentous occasion in his life.) He tried to recall the memory of him standing in the doorway again, peering into the drow's violet eyes. He remember feeling her breath on his face. And then everything went black and starry.

He looked around the room. It wasn't his. Was it Rasaad's? He searched around for the monk's pack, weapons and "light reading" books on systematic theology. Nothing. And to his alarm, Xan found his tunic floating inside the half-empty tub.

Not wanting to be around when the monk woke up, Xan gathered his tunic and made his way to the door. Peeking outside the landing told him that they had spent the night in Viconia's room. Instead of taking the west flight of stairs last night, he had taken the east and mistakenly ended up at her room.

Where was the drow now?

He glanced back at the motionless Rasaad again. He hoped to dear Corellon they didn't partake in anything lewd together with the drow (separately was still acceptable). He went back quickly to the monk and pulled the smothering pillow off, inspecting his face for any lipstick marks, hickeys, or teeth marks for that matter.

Nothing except the expression of slumber so deep he wondered if the monk had gone into a coma.

He replaced the pillow over Rasaad's face and opened the door again. After he was sure he couldn't hear anyone coming up the stairs, he sprinted to his own room on the other side of the landing. His key was no longer on him and since he hadn't memorized any spells to open doors, he would just have to break down the door. He had watched Rasaad do it plenty of times so how hard could it be!

Unfortunately much harder than he thought, as he threw himself against the door repeatedly, grunting and then starting to perspire profusely. How did the others make it look so easy, especially that human ranger Minsc, who could take a door off its hinges by just pulling the doorknob.

Speaking of doorknobs, Xan peered closer at it and realized that the key had been left in the keyhole. He raged within himself, even more so when he realized the door had also been left unlocked.

Inside his room, someone had tossed all of Rasaad's gear onto his bed. To make a strong vindictive point, they had torn several pages from his book on systematic theology and also scrawled "Selune is a shit goddess!" on the cover.

Which meant Viconia had stayed in the monk's room last night!

Xan felt slightly offended that she chose Rasaad's room over his, when she obviously had two options, and his room was closer to hers. Why Rasaad's? Just because the monk was _a lot_ tidier and didn't leave powdered bones, other arcane material components and muffin crumbs all over the floor doesn't make the monk's bed more inviting!

A hundred things ran over Xan's head as he washed—nay, _scrubbed—_and put on his clean robes. He _really_ couldn't remember what had happened that moment when Viconia came within inches of his face. There was his heart banging against his chest, the whirlpool in his stomach, the heat on his ears and cheeks, and hopelessness losing its suffixes "less" and "ness".

Did he kiss Viconia? Yay or nay?

Sighing at the realization that last night's mystery would annoy him more than any of his investigations, even if it was as serious as Bhaal resurfacing in their midst (even Xan didn't believe he could be so unlucky as to encounter the Lord of Murder in _any_ form), Xan decided he must find out what actually happened last night with Viconia during The Close Encounter.

He combed his fingers through his hair as he dragged himself over to Rasaad's room. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself to face the wrath of a drow, he knocked on the door.

Viconia ripped the door open as if expecting him, greeting him with her patented evil glare.

"Good morning, Viconia!" He tried his best to conjure a bright smile, flashing his teeth and feeling his cheek cramp.

"You shit elf!"

"You're looking well this morning. I trust you find the room agreeable? You could've actually stayed in mine, by the way."

"Darkness take you!"

Xan sighed. He had been right to think that pleasantries would not work with the drow. "Straight to the point then. Did anything… untoward happen last night?"

"WHAT DO YOU THINK? You cast me out of my own room!"

"Viconia, may I take this time to express how _merciful_ you have been?" Xan persisted, in the meekest voice he could muster, bringing his palms together and putting his hands to his forehead.

The drow looked like she was about to spew blood.

He put down his hands and cleared his throat. "Did anything else unpleasant… possibly _pleasant_, happen?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager.

The drow folded her arms but dropped the glare, instantly catching his reference to The Close Encounter. "This is most intriguing… not only was the enchanter intoxicated, but he appears to have lost his memory."

"I can retrieve the memory by force if I wish to do so. It is for the sake of conversation that I am asking you."

The drow grinned wickedly and shook her head. "Servants of Shar dwell in secrets, as you well know."

Xan sighed again, and placed his hands against the doorframe. He would have to do things the _difficult_ way. So be it then. The first thing he would have to do was break down the drow's strong magic resistances. He gazed into the drow's eyes, compelling her not to look away, and started chanting under his breath.

"There is this Common word I know of that is referred to as 'The Magic Word' in surface interaction that possesses greater power of influence than arcane magic. 'Please' I believe it is."

Xan ceased his chanting and blinked.

"Please, Viconia?"

Viconia cocked her head to one side. Then, unexpectedly merciful again, she told him, "As you stood at my doorway with your tongue hanging out of your mouth, saliva flowing down to your chin, the moon-child rammed into you like a bull."

So the monk interrupted them? What was he trying to do? Enforce his moral higher ground, or express his jealousy? Either way… how dared he interrupt such a moment!

Viconia carried on animatedly. "In his tear-ridden state of terror, he wailed and I quote:

"'Xan, remember you once told me that if anyone tried to touch me below the waist without my consent, I should say "no" and run away?'"

"I am amazed, Viconia, that's actually a brilliant impression of the monk," Xan remarked. Viconia had managed to mimic the Calishite accent perfectly, rolling her tongue in Rasaad's strangulated-virgin manner. He never thought her capable of such talent though he was no stranger to her sardonic sense of humor.

The drow grinned appreciatively before she continued. "You responded with this most peculiar surface expression—'Go soak your head.'"

This time it wasn't as funny when she mimicked the way _he _spoke, and he wondered why she had to toss her head back dramatically as she said it.

"You then hurled the monk towards the tub. An impressive display of strength I must admit, that I never imagined a weakling such as yourself capable of."

Xan tried to his best to look unconcerned as he now had the answer as to why his tunic was found soaked in rose-scented water.

"I was sorely tempted to let you two drunken fools drown in soiled bathwater. But I thought it more amusing to introduce two frigid males to the possibilities of bedroom decadence. So I stripped the both of you of your shirts and guided you to the sheets. Truth be told, the monk merely slumped himself across the mattress like a bagged corpse.

"As for _you_, you decided to embrace the sleeping monk's thigh in one arm and your sword in the other. Whether you remained in that position the whole night through, or discovered the joys of simultaneous fellatio, I bore no witness."

"Viconia, a question, if I may." Xan decided to drop his civility. "Why must you always be so damn rude?"

"What else can I do in the company of limp cowards?" Viconia snapped right back, her glare returning.

"I assure you nothing happened between the monk and me!"

"In bed with a spread-eagled lifeless body and you accomplished nothing last night? That is most pathetic!"

"What I was trying to accomplish last night was something else completely different!"

"I am certain your spectacular failures would be of interest to no one. Now begone from my room!" Viconia snapped as she started to shut the door on him.

Xan was suddenly hit by a feeling of utter panic at the thought of Viconia shutting him out. He recalled that pool of warmth he felt last night, standing in her doorway. They were logically consistent with what he had been feeling over the last few days (note: he would never cultivate unhealthy feelings for barely-legal girls and monk boys). So although the spiked wine did the talking, the only thing it did to his feelings was enhance them, turning them up a few notches. And just for effect, the meddling gods placed Viconia right in front of him on the game board so he could no longer ignore what he felt, and it was his turn so he had to make his move.

Being neutral and uninvolved and letting the others do the leading or crusading didn't seem to work very well any more, especially when it came to feelings not manipulated by spells.

Since he was doomed one way or another, and he had a bucket list he wanted to update, Xan pushed the door back and said, "What I was trying to accomplish last night was simply thus."

He leaned in quickly and swept his lips against hers.

Before Viconia could kill him, he quickly shut the door first.


	6. 6: Rasaad

"RASAAAAAD! ... WAIT UP! ... PLEASE! ... IT'S ME! IMOEN!"

Rasaad turned around to see a pink figure in the distant south, running up the paved road from Beregost. Agony and exhaustion flushed her face red as she struggled towards him in loud, heavy steps. It took Imoen almost a minute to reach him, and when she did she keeled over with her hands on her knees, wheezing and out of breath.

"Why – hck – do – you – hrhh – run – so – fast?" she wheezed loudly, sucking for air in between her words.

"Was I running?" Rasaad was surprised. Usually he moved a lot faster, but he felt like taking a casual stroll that morning. At one point he even took out the book he was currently reading to reread his favorite chapter – 'On the Diagrammatic and Mechanical Representation of Propositions and Reasonings' – as he walked.

"I've been chasing you for two hours!" Imoen looked up at him, her face drenched in sweat and her eyes all red and teary. She wiped her eyes roughly with the back of her hands.

Then she burst into tears altogether, much to his alarm.

"_Please_ _Rasaad!_ D-don't leave us!" Tears flooded down Imoen's cheeks. She pulled out a kerchief to wipe her eyes, then blew her nose until the cloth became all soggy.

"We're so, so sorry for g-getting you drunk!" Imoen sobbed, now wiping her eyes with her sleeves as she tried in vain to stop the uncontrollable tears.

_What is going on? _

"Imoen, I don't understand. What makes you think I'm leaving our group?" Rasaad asked her urgently.

"Y-you mean you're not mad at us?" The tears stopped dripping from her chin.

"Should I be?"

Yesterday, he recalled feeling upset when he awoke just in time to see the sun setting outside. How evil was the effects of alcohol, that he remembered almost nothing about the night before. His last memory was of Arquen climbing over the dinner table towards him whilst fiddling with the buttons in front of her tunic (why was she doing that? Was her chest feeling itchy?). It disturbed him greatly that he had woken up in a room that wasn't his own. Truly it could only have been Selune's divine mercy that had protected him from being tortured and slain, when he learnt he had passed out in Viconia's room! For the rest of the evening, his head spun and he kept vomiting whenever he tried to eat or drink or look into the mirror. "Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, and whoever is led astray by it is not wise," was the last thing his temple masters had said to him as he descended the steps of his monastery to set sail for Amn. As he had loudly declared a vow then that he would never drink alcohol in his life, he spent the night grieving over his great sin – so deep was his remorse he cried – and how he had disappointed his goddess and his temple masters.

Came this morning though, he wasn't feeling sick any more. Although he would like to have a stern word with Arquen, it seemed rather pointless for him to resurface all the bad feelings for the sake of being upset.

Imoen stopped crying and asked, "So why are you headed north all on your own?"

"Xan told me word has been mentioned on Alorgoth, and that I should investigate the rumors."

"_Xan_ gave you a lead on Alorgoth?"

"Aye. This morning he told me to set off on my own to the Friendly Arm Inn. He even gave me some gold and said, 'I want you to go and buy yourself a clue.' He told me only to return when – " Rasaad broke off his sentence as he realized in horror that he'd _completely_ misunderstood what Xan was trying to say ("Leave me alone for exactly twelve and a half hours."). _Again. _

Turning away from Imoen quickly, he dropped his gear by the nearest tree and sat down hard on the forest floor. Suddenly he felt very tired. And stupid. How could he have misinterpreted what Xan said just because the elf mentioned Alorgoth's name? He really should know better by now. Xan didn't even care about the wipeout of the entire Sun Soul monastery and Gamaz's death in Athkatla! When Rasaad told him about the events in Athkatla, the only remark the elf had, which Rasaad found cutting instead comforting, was, "I take solace in the fact I would not be the only person in the sea of death around you."

He felt a hand squeezing his shoulder. "Rasaad, are you alright?" Imoen asked softly.

He looked up at her. A girl two years younger than him. Except for this morning's show of tears and during the fatigue of battle, Imoen was the only person who always kept a smile for him, it seemed. The only person who said kind things to him most of the time. Who never once shouted or said a bad word at him.

The only person he felt he didn't have to try to please or second guess.

He gave her a small smile. "I'm fine, Imoen. I'm sorry for making you run all this way." He offered her his waterskin, which she grabbed and chugged down nearly all the water.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "No worries! The moment I spotted you from the window, I knew I had to give chase! You ain't going anywhere without a bail, no sirree!" She poured some water over her face to cool off.

"It was foolish of me to take what everyone says at face value," Rasaad admitted.

"Here's a tip, Rasaad. Whatever Viconia tells you to do, if it involves endangering your life, _don't_ do it. If it's coming from Xan, ask him to do it first so that you'll know if he's sending you on a wild goose chase. If it's Arquen, even if it _doesn't_ make sense, even if it _defies logic_, just say yes and do it right away if you wanna make her happy."

"And what should I do if you told me to do something?" Rasaad smiled at her.

Instead of smiling back, Imoen looked away. She wasn't smiling either. "Oh, just ignore what I say, y'know."

"Why would I do that? I wouldn't ignore you, Imoen. I couldn't." He really meant that he couldn't, as he would expect Imoen to picklock his door, pour ice cubes down the back of his shirt, and jump up and down in front of him until he responded to her.

Imoen turned back to him with an intense expression on her face. "What do you think of me, Rasaad?"

He looked at her for a moment and thought how strange it was for her to not smile or laugh. Imoen was the cheerful one. She had all kinds of curious stories to tell, ranging from "hedgehog bowling" to "cute demigods". Everything amused her and she wanted everyone to share in her happiness, whether it came in the form of ice cream, fire spells or tadpoles. He could never imagine her losing that sparkle.

So he told her, "You are like the sun, who rises to light up everybody's day. You possess the brightest disposition and you shine with genuine warmth and kindness."

"Whoa. You sure are poetic for a preacher man. But I was simply wondering if you thought I was _pretty_." She broke into a grin and bore her eyes into his eagerly.

_Pretty … _

That word …

It had the power to beam down the symphony of harps and ecstatic joy from the heavens.

Or evoke the wrath of demons in the mortal planes.

Arquen had an obsession with that word. "Do I look _pretty_ today?" she would pick someone at random and ask_ every day_. Viconia too used that word in her eloquent manner: "Do your eyes burn with lust as you gaze upon my fine form? Do surfacers consider the ebony features of a drow _pretty?_" Once he heard a man in a bathhouse describe Xan as "_very pretty_".

Since he knew what Arquen and Viconia desired to hear, he regurgitated the model answer to Imoen, "Of course you are pretty."

Rasaad was certain he had said the right thing, but Imoen frowned at him. Then she folded her arms. Even though she couldn't look half as terrifying as Arquen and Viconia when they were furious, Rasaad felt cold sweat starting to form on his forehead.

"Who do you think is the prettiest in our group?" she asked.

Under the stress of interrogation, his throat went dry. Why couldn't she broach an easier subject, like the nine thousand mysteries of Selune he was trained to debate endlessly over?

What sort of criteria was he supposed to measure them against? Hair color? Arquen had blonde hair. Viconia had pale hair. Imoen had pink hair, which he learnt a couple of days ago that she had dyed recently but he honestly couldn't remember what color her hair was when they first met in Nashkel several months ago.

Were there different points for eye colors? Arquen had turquoise eyes, which he would always remember now because she told him herself that they were "blue-green like the ocean. Don't you dare say they're black again!" He had forgotten completely what color Viconia's eyes were. Maybe red? He glanced quickly at Imoen to determine that hers were light blue.

"Okay, let's make it even easier. Who's prettier – Arquen or me?"

Seriously, what sort of aesthetics was he supposed to look out for? Arquen had long hair, sometimes with braids here and there. Imoen had shoulder-length hair, and she knotted a few bunches with rubber bands. Arquen was an elf – no, a _half_-elf, with pointy ears. Imoen was human. What was he supposed to use as a performance metric in order to rate them higher or lower? Facial geometry? Distance between the eyes? Seriously, what?!

"Er … I think … er … " he fumbled helplessly.

Imoen raised her hand and patted him on the head, then – to his great relief – smiled. "Don't answer it. I know you like Arquen!"

"Of course! Don't you?"

"You know what I mean."

No, he had no idea what Imoen meant. But he didn't want to appear stupid for the second time that day, so he didn't pursue the topic. Instead, since she mentioned the half-elf first, he asked, "How is Arquen this morning?"

"Still drinkin'. We're planning to recycle the wine bottles. With all the money raised, we should be able to afford a horse!"

Rasaad sighed. He really wished Arquen wouldn't drink herself to oblivion, though he did his best to empathize and understand why she would want to erase her memories. At the bandit camp, aside from not finding the answers to Gorion's murder and her sudden departure from Candlekeep, he saw the macabre scene Kivan had left behind inside Tazok's tent. He had never seen arrows driven through bones before, and he most definitely had never seen rib cages turned into a chandelier. For Arquen to have witnessed the scene as it unfolded ... Selune have mercy, but there were some things in life you couldn't 'unsee'.

"Is there anything I could do that would persuade her to sobriety?" Rasaad asked.

"Buy her a castle."

"Really? Would that help?"

Imoen gave him a funny look. "You _really_ like Arquen, huh?"

"Doesn't everyone? My apologies, Imoen. I admit I don't really know what you mean."

Imoen appeared angry again, and again she turned away from him to glare at an unsuspecting butterfly fluttering past them. "I mean all you men desire girls who stay young forever! We're kiddos now but by thirty I'm gonna start wrinkling and sprouting grey hairs and all." She combed her pink hair roughly with her fingers. "You're human, too! Don't you dread the thought of becoming an old fart and turning bald naturally?"

"Actually, in a few years' time, I will inherit what monks call a 'timeless body'," Rasaad explained. "Though death comes when our time is up, we do not suffer the effects of aging, nor can we be magically aged."

"THANK YOU RASAAD YOU JUST MADE ME FEEL A WHOLE LOT BETTER!"

Rasaad winced with guilt for causing Imoen's face to burn as bright pink as her hair. "I – I have ruined your morning. Please forgive me, Imoen," he said. She responded by hugging her knees like a small child and exhaling loudly.

"Please tell me what can I do to make you feel better?"

"Well ... " Imoen looked up, a suggestive smile slowly taking over the anger. "How 'bout we go set random things on fire?"

* * *

><p>Imoen was HOWLING from laughter.<p>

And Rasaad couldn't stop grinning as he cracked his knuckles after the flames on his fists dissipated.

In front of them laid a burnt log with rather well-carved features of an elf, still smoking from the fire. The grass around it had been razed to the ground and the site looked as if a human sacrifice – correction, an _elf_ sacrifice had taken place in the middle of the forest. Next to the cremated effigy of the elf was the letter 'X' made with two branches, still aflame.

"Oh gods, Rasaad! That's brilliant!" Imoen wiped the tears from her eyes, crying with laughter this time. "Get the 'A' and 'N' as well!"

He _really_ shouldn't be breaking anymore branches from the trees.

But it was too funny not to. Rasaad went to the nearest tree and snapped off six branches about the length of his arm each, accidentally collapsing a bough in the process. They laid the branches out on the ground until, together with the burning 'X', they spelt out a clear 'XAN'.

"My turn!" Imoen announced. She pulled out a pinch of yellow powder from the small pouch she had on her belt, then tossed the powder at the branches, chanting as she went along. For dramatic effect, she tipped her head back and spoke in a deep, operatic voice. Flames burst from the branches three feet high before blazing brightly. The burning of 'XAN' was complete.

Imoen fell about in hysterical laughter again, slapping her thigh and wiping her eyes. Rasaad chuckled, feeling pleased with himself for making Imoen laugh like so. A small token of apology for upsetting her earlier. He also couldn't remember the last time he had so much fun.

Rasaad glanced around them to make sure the wind wasn't blowing the dancing flames over to the trees, risking a forest fire. For some reason, he imagined Jaheira the half-elf druid marching up to them from the distance, in which case a forest fire would not be the worst case scenario. It had been awhile since they last had the company of the druid but Rasaad suddenly pictured the permanent frown on her forehead in front of him, imagined her thunderous scolding voice and, of course, recalled her deep reverence for nature. She would be outraged if she saw this.

Rasaad blinked a few times, and realized that the figure of Jaheira did _not_ disappear. In fact, she was very rapidly approaching with a frown so deep it looked like crevices erupting on her forehead. Behind her was her husband Khalid, the half-elf warrior trying desperately to pull her back by the arm with a terrified look on his face. Despite the weight of his heavy chainmail armor, he was being dragged by his heels.

Imoen ducked behind him for cover. "I don't want to die," she said weakly as Rasaad's soul shook in fear.

Jaheira reached them and shoved Rasaad aside roughly. She leapt at the squealing Imoen, clamping the girl's ear with an iron hand. "OW!" Imoen yelped but immediately surrendered to the druid's grip as Rasaad watched nervously by the side. This had been a familiar, daily recurring scene from many tendays ago. Jaheira was always reprimanding Arquen and Imoen over some kind of misbehavior.

Then, in a _completely_ unexpected move, Jaheira reached over with her other hand to grip HIS ear.

"I would expect this kind of behavior from Arquen and Imoen – " the druid started scolding as she tightened her grip, pulling his face down to her height level, and making him look death in the eye.

" – and that buffoon Minsc may commit such acts of foolishness unknowingly – " she continued as she started pinching him, causing a burning sensation in his ear.

" – even _Dynaheir_ might occasionally set something aflame – " Rasaad dropped to his knees in fearful submission.

" _– I would even accept such nonsense coming from XAN –_ " He recalled the last time someone twisted his ear and shouted into it like so, and that was when he was seven years old, when a guard caught him and Gamaz stealing pomegranates at the market.

" – BUT YOU, RASAAD YN BASHIR, ARE THE LAST PERSON IN TORIL I WOULD EXPECT TO SEE DESECRATING NATURE IN SUCH AN UNSPEAKABLE MANNER!"

Rasaad braced himself for Jaheira to rip his ear off completely, wondering if his Lay on Hands healing would be able to stick body parts back like glue.

Finally, the druid released Imoen and him, and both of them fell to the ground on their elbows. Rasaad touched his throbbing ear as he burnt with deep shame inside, reduced to his seven-year-old self and shrunk to about three feet tall.

"N-n-now, now, Jaheira. I'm s-sure they are both very s-s-sorry," Khalid said, stuttering more than usual, at once trying to appease his wife as well as console Imoen and Rasaad.

After planting six seedlings as punishment and writing "I will not burn trees for fun" one hundred times on the sand with sticks, they spoke to the Harpers about all that had transpired since they parted ways.

"We will head to Cloakwood in a few days, once Arquen, uh, sobers up," Imoen was saying.

Jaheira immediately narrowed her brows and said, "The whelp is being a drunkard again? Honestly! Gorion would be so disappointed!"

"Well, at the bandit camp, she did witness Kivan going berserk and skewering organs. Like, ripping out hearts and, and ... Rasaad, what else did we see?"

"Livers, kidneys, one was just a severed foot, I believe." Rasaad recalled, and promptly lost his appetite for lunch.

"Yea, and he kinda strung them across the tent, like hanging up your laundry. Anyway, she says the nightmares won't stop. She now has another one of her supernatural abilities to cast a Horror spell. Also, she can't eat meatloaf any more."

"And you are certain this elf ranger is not evil?" Jaheira didn't look pleased with their choice of companions, so Rasaad exchanged looks with Imoen before they dared say, "Oh, we have a cleric traveling with us now."

"And this cleric would owe their allegiance to which temple?"

"Oh, none to be of any concern. Shar."

"SHAR? Rasaad!" Jaheira shifted her glare to him. "Would you care to elaborate with no embellishments or nonchalant glossing over of the truth?"

"The drow is – "

"DID YOU JUST SAY 'DROW'?"

Rasaad winced slightly as he nodded. Jaheira started swearing under her breath – something involving Silvanus and armpits – as Khalid patted her shoulder and said, "Our role of guardian is a t-test. We can reconsider having ch-children if you wish, my dear."

Rasaad continued, "The drow is an exile of her people, and it is a chance for me to be faithful in delivering the teachings of Selune, that she may one day embrace the light and turn away from the void."

"Th-that is most admirable, Rasaad," Khalid said encouragingly, always the man to think positively. He darted his eyes over at Jaheira in hope she would concur and drop that stare of dubiety. She didn't.

They headed back to Beregost. Rasaad walked behind the Harpers quietly with Imoen, listening to the druid's plans on what they should do in Cloakwood, where they ought to explore first, and which wildlife species population survey to be conducted whilst they were in the wilderness.

"Dearest, I think we sh-should let the others have a s-say as well in the mission," Khalid said to his wife.

"Need I remind you what happened when we let the young ones take the lead in Nashkel?" Jaheira said sharply. "We ended up in the carnival for three days! No, _we_ will lead!"

Everyone decided to walk in silence after that. After all, the Harpers had responded to the note they'd left at the Friendly Arm Inn and though it had been almost a month ago, they still headed southwards immediately to regroup with Arquen.

Not to mention it was also wise to let the hot-headed druid have her say, lest their ears be twisted beyond repair.

* * *

><p>At the Jovial Juggler, Imoen grabbed Rasaad's hand. "You're the best person to rouse Arquen after her bingeing!" she cheerfully told him, planting her key in his hand while pretending to give him a formal handshake.<p>

"But, Imoen, she is _your_ sister and – " Rasaad tried to say.

"I need to sort out rooms for Mr. and Mrs. Harper. Bye-bye!" Imoen pushed him towards the stairs and steered Jaheira and Khalid towards the bar. "Rasaad's the only person who can take a few magic missile hits," he overheard her say to the couple.

Rasaad decided to go unload his gear in his own room first. Having shifted to Viconia's former room, he was now next door to Xan.

And outside Xan's room that afternoon, he came across Viconia, who was banging on the door impatiently. There was a frantic look on the drow's face, as if she had been robbed or violated in some manner.

Rasaad considered ignoring the drow, but the fact that he was still alive meant she had been uncharacteristically merciful towards him despite his drunken episode.

So he went up to her. "Viconia? Is something the matter?"

The drow turned to him with a storm on her face. "When did you last see Xan?" she asked curtly.

"Briefly this morning, when he asked me to fetch breakfast."

"I have not seen the elf since yesterday morning! Is this still his room, or have the two of you started cohabiting?" She stomped her feet on the spot like a child. "My afternoon was wasted sitting around outside, yet I have not seen a soul!"

"This is most definitely his room. The only way out is if he climbed out the window." Rasaad paused, believing it absurd that Xan would try to leave through the window on the third floor. "Of course ... Xan could've casted a teleportation spell of some sort," he reasoned.

By the way Viconia was glaring and yanking at the doorknob, Rasaad could tell that she was very agitated.

"Should I happen to come across Xan later, would you like me to pass him a message?" he offered.

Viconia paused to look at him, considering the offer. Then she said, "Indeed you could."

Glad he could assist the drow and demonstrate the benevolent light of Selune, Rasaad asked, "What would you like me to convey to him?"

** SLAP! **

For the second time that day, Rasaad found himself subjected to a completely unexpected act when Viconia slapped him across the face. _  
><em>

He touched his stinging cheek and stared at the drow.

"Be sure to convey this to the coward!" Viconia snapped as she turned her heels and stomped off.

Rasaad wondered what could have transpired between Xan and Viconia as he went to his room to put away his gear. The enchanter once said to him, "She loathes elves, and despises worshippers of Selune. Shall we wager who she will poison to death first? If I die, promise me you'll make the journey to Evereska, that my moonblade may be returned to my kin. If you die, can I sell your boots? They're worth 12,500 gold at the stores, aren't they?"

Strangely, he recalled having seen Xan stare at Viconia for several minutes at a time. Prolonged gazes that trailed the drow from one end of the room to the other, or watched her eat a sandwich from start to finish. He asked Xan before why he couldn't tear his eyes away from the drow, one night when she had been sleeping in her bedroll for a good hour. After a startled leap from his seat, Xan had said, "I am merely conducting some individual observations to aid my investigations. Why are you stalking people, you creep!"

As for Viconia, Rasaad had always thought she acted less contemptuously towards Xan compared to everyone else. She complained about Xan's complaining and swore at him with death threats, however ... she actually referred to Xan _by his name. _Whenever Rasaad spoke to the drow, on the other hand, she always referred to him by anything _other _than his name – like "monk", "moon-child", "fool", "retard", "star shit trooper", "fuckwit", and vulgar words he had never heard before until he met her, that alarmed him every time he checked the dictionary for their meanings, especially when used in their various combinations. Calling Xan by his name was the biggest evidence of Viconia attributing some measure of humanity (in the drow sense) and worth to the elf. He believed it was likely gratitude, even in the smallest measurement or whatever a drow was capable of, to Xan for saving her life. It was one of the glimpses of inner light he could see in her … at least Rasaad would like to think so, because if it wasn't then the possibility of Xan selling his Moonlight Walkers was higher.

Keeping in view Viconia's 'message', Rasaad strode to the other section of the inn where the royal suites were located. As a reward for their discovery and partial wipeout of the bandit camp, Officer Vai of the Flaming Fist had provided them with the finest suites at the Jovial Juggler. Arquen and Imoen were staying together in the largest suite they had.

He knocked on the door several times and waited for Arquen to answer. When she didn't, he unlocked the door with Imoen's key.

"Arquen?" he said quietly.

No answer. Rasaad pushed the door open further and heard the sounds of bottles clinking against each other. He peeked behind the door to find a dozen empty wine bottles scattered across the floor. Careful not to step on any bottles, he made his way across the spacious living area, stepping over the luxurious persian orange carpet, past the ornamental plants and armoire.

On the northwest side of the suite, he found the half-elf wrapped in the royal blue blankets of her king-sized bed with a bottle. Looking very much like a baby in bed with a bottle, except her one-litre bottle had no teat attached and included an alcohol level of at least fifteen percent.

"Arquen?" he said again as he went up to the bedside. Arquen popped the bottle out of her mouth and turned to him, not saying anything.

Recalling his conversation with Imoen that morning about the meaning of "pretty", and Imoen's assumption that he found Arquen "prettier", Rasaad decided to examine the half-elf's face in closer detail to see if he could discern some features that could set the benchmark of what being "pretty" should be.

A wave of vertigo overcame him.

The disease-like drunk rashes ... The glazed beholder-like eyes ... The smeared days-old makeup on her face ... Selune granted him the courage he needed, for that beast in bed frightened him to no end, even more than clowns, which to Rasaad had always been horror personified.

"Hey you, why do you have a topographic map on your face?" Arquen croaked, flopping the back of an arm over her eyes.

"It's me, Rasaad."

"RASAAD?!"

Arquen sprang up ninety-degree straight. As she turned to him the bones in her neck cracked loudly from two days of inactivity, causing him to stagger backwards and fall on his butt. He half-expected her to rotate her head a full 360 degrees just then. Never before had he felt the instinct to flee a room screaming.

"Rasaad I swear I was only messing about when I tried to strip you that night please please please don't be upset!" she squealed loudly.

His fear turned to shock.

"Did you just say you tried to–to strip me?"

"Oh …

"_Ohhh _… I meant _trip_ you! At the stairs!"

Rasaad had no memory of being tripped at the stairs (or even leaving the tavern after Arquen climbed over the table towards him, for that matter).

Before he could ask Arquen to help fill in the gaps in his memory, there was a knock on the door. Rasaad answered it to find two servants standing outside. "The young lady downstairs has requested for a hot bath to be prepared immediately," the bathman informed in a harried tone, as if he had just been asked to prepare a princess's knobstick wedding.

They proceeded to march into the room carrying buckets of hot water, towels, a fresh dish of soap as well as random items like red oddly-shaped candles, a basket of rose petals and dessert. The tub was filled and candles were lit around the room, as if to symbolize some blossoming pathway that led to a full flowering (or deflowering, since the petals had been 'plucked') on the bed. Rasaad watched the servants transformed the suite into shades of red, including changing the bedding (flipping Arquen around as if in a casualty ward at a temple but with more grace), and wondered why Imoen would make such an urgent request when it was obvious Arquen would struggle even to climb out of bed, let alone appreciate the new decoration.

As the servants made their way out, the grinning woman pushed a small bottle into Rasaad's hand. "To create the mood!" she said with a wink, just as the bathman thumped him on the shoulder and performed a forceful fist pump.

He watched them leave and examined the contents of the bottle. It smelt of patchouli mixed with the very exotic scent of ylang ylang. When he rubbed a drop between his fingers, the almond oil caused a tingling sensation of warmth.

_What a strange massage oil ..._

Glancing back at Arquen, he saw her crawling towards the edge of the bed. Quickly, he made his way over again, slipping his hands under her arms just in time to catch her as she flipped over the edge. The new red blanket and a couple of heart-shaped silk cushions tumbled onto the floor as Arquen pressed her trembling body against his.

She didn't look like she could get from the west side of the suite to the tub by the east wall without shambling across the floor like a zombie, so Rasaad scooped the petite half-elf up in his strong arms and carried her.

On the other side of the room, a red phallic-shaped candle had been lit next to the tub, its flames flickering passionately as hot wax dripped down its length. Inside the tub, rose petals floated over the steaming water with the sweet scent of anticipation.

Rasaad gently put Arquen down on her feet. He knelt down to hold her hips and keep her from swaying.

"Oh dear, standing up just made the wine swim to my head again! I am sooo high right now!" Arquen said in a husky voice as she slowly pulled off her chemise, head disappearing into linen as she lifted the lacy hem above her toned calves, then knees, then slender thighs spread slightly apart.

Then Rasaad caught sight of a book lying facedown on the floor just behind her. Curious, he reached over to pick it up.

_History of the Dead Three._ An interesting, albeit dark title.

The candlelight by the tub wasn't bright enough so Rasaad went across to the southeast corner of the room, the sitting area with a long sofa where an oil lamp offered better reading light.

Making himself comfortable in the luxurious silk cushion framed with red oak, Rasaad flipped the book open.

_In ages past there was but one god of strife, death, and the dead, and he was known as Jergal, Lord of the End of Everything._

On the coffee table in front of him was a plate of strawberries and chocolate truffles arranged in a heart shape. Rasaad didn't have a sweet tooth, so he casually swept the chocolate to one side – breaking the heart pattern until it resembled a strawberries versus chocolate truffles battlefield formation – and picked at the strawberries as he engrossed himself in the tale.

_During this dark era, there arose three powerful mortals – Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul – who lusted after the power Jergal wielded. The trio forged an unholy pact, agreeing that they would dare to seek such ultimate power or die in the attempt._

He had studied the histories of the gods before, especially the rise and demise of Bhaal, the Lord of Murder, but he had not yet read this version, and he always enjoyed reading different historical retellings, preferably unabridged versions with extended footnotes and appendixes.

"RASAAD ARE YOU GOING TO SPEND ANOTHER TWENTY MINUTES PRETENDING I DON'T EXIST?"

Rasaad slammed the book shut and cleared his throat. How rude of him! He had almost forgotten about Arquen behind him! He ran through his head the most appropriate conversation topic he could think of and the most interesting thing he could possibly say at that moment, knowing they were alone in a luxurious suite and Arquen was partially intoxicated, and presently very wet.

"Do you seek enlightenment?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

He saw Arquen plunging her head under the rose petals. Bubbles foamed at the surface like boiling water and parted the petals in waves as she appeared to be blowing her nose very hard – either that or she was screaming (but why would she do that? Was she frustrated by something and needed to vent?) – underwater. When she resurfaced from her aquatic torrent of effervescence, she let out a sigh so deep it could only be contested by Xan.

In a strange hollow tone of voice, she said, "I'd like to know more about your search for the missing Sun Soul monks."

Rasaad wasn't sure if she was genuinely interested, but since she asked, he recalled some details of his past he had shared with her earlier, on his search for the elusive Alorgoth in Athkatla, whom his investigations believed to be the mastermind behind the slaughter of the Sun Soul monastery in Athkatla. "After discovering our fellow Sun Soul monks had vanished from their monastery, we felt the truth must lie behind the name Alorgoth. We spread out in pairs to investigate further. Gamaz and I, used to life on Calimport streets, searched for rumors on the streets of Athkatla.

"Much of our investigation took place at night, under the benign gaze of Selune. You see, although the sun shines more brightly, it is the moon that reveals the truths hidden in darkness.

"One night, we witnessed several shadowy figures assaulting a lone man on the street. We raced to his defense. The Moonmaiden blessed us, and we drove off his attackers."

He recalled the moment his brother, never one to doubt his own abilities, chased the attackers into an alley. "Despite our intervention, the man was gravely wounded, I remained with him, tending his wounds as best I could while calling for help. Gamaz, however, pursued the attackers.

"I shouted at him to come back, but he did not listen. Sometimes I wonder whether things would have been different if I had followed Gamaz instead of remaining with the wounded man."

He then fell silent and looked down at the book distractedly. The memories ... filled him with darkness, casting not light but a cold, empty shadow onto the world. In their group, only Xan knew about his past ... and upon hearing about the death of Gamaz, the elf made that hurtful comment about him being surrounded by death before saying he didn't want to listen anymore.

"What happened next?" Arquen asked.

He swallowed, remembering the grave mistake he made that caused his brother's life, though he tried to tell himself that his Order compelled him to aid the wounded. "I suppose it might have been worse had I gone with him. Still, I wish that night I could have been two men, one to remain with the injured man, another to go with my brother.

"When help finally arrived, I ran after Gamaz. I found him only a few streets away. My brother had fought bravely, slaying three of his attackers before he was brought down."

Should he really tell Arquen everything? He never told her what happened to Gamaz before this, and she never actually asked. Knowing Arquen was struggling with coming to terms with her foster father's death, he didn't really need to share his past (his "maudlin plea", as Xan would call it).

But, he also didn't want to keep her in the dark, so he took a deep breath and told her about Gamaz's fate. "Once more I cried out for help. Men came soon, but not to aid me. Instead they arrested me for fighting in the streets, leaving Gamaz to die in a pool of his own blood.

"When the guards released me the following day, Gamaz had died. They said he had been slain by Shadow Thieves. The guards could not even give me his body, for they had burned it with those of the other dead men."

No funeral. Not even a final glimpse of his body to mourn. Gamaz, who stood as a pillar of tradition and excellence in the Order of the Sun Soul, _his only brother_, deserved more than that. Unbidden, Rasaad was filled with gnawing thoughts about how his family would've been better off if he hadn't been born. His mother certainly wouldn't have died at childbirth; his father wouldn't have struggled to raise Gamaz and him, then die at the Arena Efreetum for his debts; and Gamaz ...

Gamaz would have been _perfect_. All Gamaz had to do was set his heart on it and he could've been anything he wanted to be because he wouldn't have a little brother to hold him back.

He didn't realize how long he had sat in silence, replaying the memory of Gamaz lying in the alley with his blood and life flowing out of him, himself being dragged away by the guards screaming, until someone took the book out of his hand.

It was Arquen. She was done with her bath and though her hair wasn't dry she looked a lot better with clean skin and a fresh set of clothes. She put the book away and slipped her hand into his. "That's terrible. I'm sorry for your loss, Rasaad," she said softly.

He tried to offer her a small smile but couldn't. "Thank you for your kindness," he told her instead.

She sat next to him and looked at him earnestly, urging him to continue.

"Disheartened by the tragedy, my fellow monks returned to Calimport. Gamaz and I had entered the monastery together, as brothers. I could not return without him. "Neither could I remain in Athkatla, a city that forever holds evil memories for me. I traveled north. At first I thought I might visit the Monastery of the Sun in Waterdeep, which they call the City of Splendors.

"Yet I was in no hurry to arrive. Every day since entering the Order of the Sun Soul, I had striven to fill my heart with radiance that I may share it with others. After Gamaz's death, I felt only the shadows of grief and despair." He recalled wandering off the northbound road from Amn aimlessly, contemplating the vast and coldness of the snowy mountains of Cloud Peaks in the distance. There were solitary days and nights in the forest without encountering another soul. Only the moon and Selune's light as his companion. Being alone, as he truly was.

Arquen was gazing back at him sadly. When he looked into her eyes, he saw it was his reflection that caused the darkness in them, tainting that beautiful color of the ocean. He couldn't bear to be the cause of her sadness, not even for a moment. "But perhaps I have dwelt too long on such memories. I wished to share my inner light with you, not my inner darkness," he said, smiling in spite of the dull ache in his chest.

"I'm sorry to bring up such a sad subject. Thank you for sharing it," Arquen said as she held his hand.

"I thought it best that you should know my past, since we travel together," Rasaad told her, finding the touch of her hand comforting.

"It wasn't the kind of spiritual and airy-fairy enlightenment I expected of you, but I realize you never told me about Gamaz's fate earlier."

"I did not wish to unburden my past onto you, knowing you have recently lost Gorion."

"As strange as it may sound, the world doesn't always revolve around me," Arquen said as she started fiddling the beads on his bracelets with her other hand. "Without others, I am as lost as a bunny mounting an anthill with love on its mind."

"Speaking of others, Jaheira and Khalid are downstairs."

Her dramatic change of expression was as if he'd just scrubbed two lemon halves all over her face. She let go of his hand and folded her arms.

"Arquen ... you just said that without others, you are lost," Rasaad told her as he observed the blackening cloud on her face. "The Harpers are supposed to be your guardians."

The half-elf huffed to herself before she jumped to her feet. "Fine! Let's go greet the treehugger!"

* * *

><p>Downstairs in the tavern, they found the Harpers and Imoen seated at a round table. The group spotted Arquen at the same time, and the half-elves immediately got to their feet, Jaheira already moving towards the girl.<p>

"How wonderful to see you again!" Arquen cried as she stretched out her arms and started running towards the table. She rushed past the druid as if she didn't see her and threw her arms around Khalid first. Jaheira's reaction was a vein popping on her forehead as she gave Rasaad a does-this-cretin-belong-to-you? glare.

"It-it's good to see you again!" Khalid said in his awkward manner, kissing Arquen lightly on the cheek before spinning her around by the shoulders to face Jaheira.

"Oh hallo Jaheira!" Arquen said loudly, giving the druid a wave. At once taking the high road and controlling her temper, Jaheira stepped forward to embrace the younger half-elf. "It is good you have been kept safe," Jaheira said gently, touching Arquen's cheek, tilting her head and studying her face as if checking for injuries.

Whatever that had occurred – which everyone referred to as The Incident That Must Not Be Repeated Aloud, involving Arquen's wand of fire, a tree of communal birds and their nests, fried eggs and bony pieces of nestlings that were more chewy than crunchy – the druid had forgiven it all, and it was plain in her show of tenderness that she cared deeply for Arquen beyond her guardian role.

"You must be hungry. Come." Jaheira beckoned them towards the table, and Rasaad found himself sat in between a very animated Arquen talking loudly to Jaheira, flapping her hands like people who live by mediterranean seas; and a grinning Imoen.

As for Xan and Viconia, they were nowhere to be seen.

"It was real weird," Imoen told him when he queried about the elves. "Xan was standing outside his room, moaning about us poisoning him with the absinthe. Then Viconia opened her door. All I did was turn around to say hi, but when I turned back, Xan had vanished!

"Viconia was weirdly upset about Xan's disappearing act, and refused to come downstairs to meet our Harper parents here. Did Xan get on her wick or something?"

Rasaad shrugged, himself curious over the elves' behavior. It was as if they had fallen in love and didn't know how to deal with it. Should such a bizarre affair actually happen, he could only imagine the drow reacting with fury and the moon elf with terror.

But of course he knew even less about romantic relationships than Underdark sexual deviants and emotionally tortured enchanters.

"Speaking of wicks, how did the dipping go earlier?" Imoen dropped to a whisper so that Arquen and the Harpers couldn't hear her as she elbowed his side.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Rasaad was confused.

"Come on, Rasaad! Don't you think it was the most romantic setting in the world? Rose petals! Candles! Exotic oils! Aphrodisiacs! Surely you discovered something worthy to do?" she hissed.

"Well, in your room I did come across this book, _History of the Dead Three_, and read some of it when Arquen was bathing. I would certainly like to read some more. Could I borrow it?"

Imoen stared at him with an open mouth for a prolonged minute. "Wow, Rasaad, are you sure you're not a Sun Soul Monk because you're so dense that light bends around you?"

Before Rasaad could ask Imoen to explain further, Arquen shouted by his side, "I'll go get my loudmouth soup then!" and promptly dashed away from the tavern.

Jaheira steamed in her seat as Khalid fanned his wife with a serviette. "All I said was she needed to learn how to speak instead of shout and that brat used it as an excuse to get a bottle. I no longer care if she drinks herself blind!" Jaheira declared.

"I-Imoen," Khalid said. "Arquen refuses to listen to us. C-could you go to her and c-c-convince her not to drink?"

Imoen shook her head. "She hasn't been listening for twenty years. Well, technically ten, since she officially started drinking. What makes you think she's gonna listen to me now?"

All eyes fell on Rasaad.

"Ras-s-saad, maybe you should try t-talking to her, and share a b-bit of y-your enlightenment," Khalid urged.

Dutifully, Rasaad made his way to Arquen's suite again. He found the half-elf in the midst of uncorking a bottle with an illustrated label of a dwarf bleeding and frothing in his mouth.

When she saw him, she cheered happily. "Rasaad! Come share this with me! Any bottle that has a picture of a dwarf with a bandage over his body where the liver is promises a good time!" When she pulled the cork stopper out, Rasaad noticed in alarm that it had been partially dissolved by the drink and was emanating a hissing sound.

"Arquen, could I please enlighten you on the evils of such substances?" Rasaad pleaded, trying to snatch the bottle out of her hands, however she moved a lot faster, even managing to twirl the bottle around like a baton without spilling a single drop.

"Drinking destroys my liver and brain cells, et cetera. I do not need enlightenment on that!" Arquen scowled at him. Rasaad stared helplessly at her as she tilted the bottle upside down and started chugging away. If only she knew how unsightly and vulgar she looked!

If only she knew ... which gave him an idea.

"No, Arquen," Rasaad started to say. Boldly, he reached out to hold up a handful of her long blonde hair in front of her face. "When you drink, your hair becomes unkempt, making you look like a medusa."

Then he pointed at her face, defying the small glare forming. "At the end of the evening, the turquoise in your eyes gets lost under a torrent of red veins and black flakes from your makeup. You shed your eyelashes."

She paused her drinking and fingered her face worriedly.

"You break out in terrible rashes on your forehead, your cheeks, your neck, your chest. Those rashes ooze out liquid when you scratch them and that's how you get the stains on your collar."

That idea was working like a charm! Arquen was looking more and more horrified. He felt a little guilty but he carried on.

"Then you belch like a dwarf, which you are not. You have vomited a few times in front of everyone in the tavern. Once, you farted.

"What I am trying to enlighten you of is, whenever you drink, you look _anything but pretty._"

Upon him dropping the awe-inspiring verbal bomb "pretty", Arquen screamed and let go of the bottle. It smashed on the floor and dissipated into distilled smoke.

"GET IT ALL AWAY FROM ME! I'M NEVER DRINKING AGAIN!" the half-elf shrieked, quickly grabbing all the bottles and throwing them out the door. Bottles went tumbling down the stairs, scattering broken glass, raining wine and causing such a violent scene that tavern and inn guests gathered to watch. When Arquen realized she had a crowd before her, she screamed some more. "You drunkards! You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

That night, a dozen people made the life-changing decision to give up their years lost to drunkenness upon hearing the half-elf's chilling testimony and heartfelt pleas.

* * *

><p>With the Harpers back in their midst and Arquen born again sober, Rasaad had one more task to accomplish before the end of the night.<p>

Standing in front of Xan's door, he decided to first call out, "Xan, it's Rasaad! I have an urgent message for you!"

He did so before he knocked on the door. For whatever reason, if the elf really was avoiding Viconia, Rasaad figured that by identifying himself upfront, he could get the elf to answer the door before he teleported, disappeared or made some mysterious exit.

True enough, he heard the shuffling of feet, and Xan opened the door slightly.

"What is it?" the elf hissed, his eyes darting around, checking their surroundings to make sure Rasaad was alone.

"I have a message from Viconia," the monk told him. Xan opened the door and grabbed Rasaad by the front of his shirt, pulling him inside the room, then slamming the door shut again.

"What is it?" he asked again nervously. The elf stood before him with pleading eyes. He looked more strung up and fidgety than usual, folding and unfolding his arms, running his fingers through his hair, swallowing loudly.

For a moment, Rasaad hesitated to deliver Viconia's message. Imoen said not to do anything Viconia asked him to if it involved endangering his own life. But this had to do with Xan and not him….

"Tell me what Viconia told you, Rasaad!" Xan barked.

Then Rasaad shrugged to himself and figured that he should never be afraid of putting his own life in danger. He also figured that if he was made to be the messenger of such … impactful news, he might as well deliver it to the best of his abilities.

With that in mind, he slapped Xan across the face so hard the elf spun around.


	7. 7: Viconia

_NOTES: Sooo sorry if Viconia and Xan sound completely off. _

* * *

><p>On the surface, Viconia was familiar with being violated by men. Used as a pleasure slave by the Calishite caravan merchant and his sexually-starved fellow travelers, Viconia knew all about the lust and perversion that drove male surfacers to ravage her body. As a drow, she used her skills in the erotic arts to twist the depravity around, luring the men into a physical <em>and<em> mental bondage, until they craved not just her flesh but her company unremittingly. So much so in the end they ended up doing _her_ bidding – the caravan traveled where she willed, men-turned-pawns begged her not to stop running her hands and tongue over them, and for several weeks, she led a satisfactory existence outside the Underdark.

But she had never been violated by a stolen kiss. By the most abhorrent of races – an _elf_. And even worse, one that belonged to the bottom of the pile.

Nay, he belonged to the bottom of the garderobe chute, the _cesspit_, as one of the caked piles of excrement that couldn't be scraped off even with a chisel. For being a coward who SHUT THE DOOR ON HER right after he dared kiss her. And avoided her ever since.

The drow paced her suite from the wooden folding screen by the tub to the chest of drawers. She stopped in front of the full-length mirror. Peering at her reflection, Viconia ran a finger over her plump lips. She was unacquainted with … lips-against-lips contact. When her four former husbands (all slain by her) kissed her, it had always been simply something to preoccupy the hole in their faces with as they drove themselves deep into her, which she would describe more accurately as sucking tongues and biting lips. Surface males avoided kissing her altogether during sex, preferring to bite her neck or shoulder instead.

Therefore that timid kiss by Xan, that most pitiful display of affection, _bothered_ her. She never expected him to pull such a stunt, though when he appeared in front of her door drunk the other night, she thought they might have fornicated (he did tell her to "blow" him after all, unless she had misunderstood that surface expression somehow). The kiss lasted all but a second but her mind had been replaying that moment when his lips brushed against hers.

Xan's lips were soft, warm, and had caused a strange sensation that tingled through her body. The sensation lingered minutes even after that moment had passed (and the coward had shut the door and ran away), like a faint trail of perfume, the diminuendo of a melody.

Viconia honestly wouldn't mind a repeat performance.

_Has life on the surface driven you mad? Desiring such unnatural relations … AN ELF, of all creatures (including orcs and farm animals like goats)!_

Then again, compared to that deranged, flea-infested racist Kivan, Xan was the least arrogant elf she had met. Rather than boast about his own prowess by virtue of being Seldarine, he believed instead, earnestly and resolutely: "We're all doomed." He could suffocate the hope of a nation, quash the dreams of small children, and convince a person that suicide was the best life decision they have ever made. To him the glass was not only half-empty but poisoned also.

Yet he had been entrusted with a moonblade. Miracle or not, the legendary blade had deemed the miserable elf worthy of wielding it and had not (yet) spontaneously combusted in his hands. He had also, somehow, managed to carve a career as a Greycloak. Viconia didn't know much about the Evereskan law enforcers, but she was certain he didn't get into the academy simply "by collecting ten gold star stickers on his report card in school", despite Arquen's claims.

To top it all off, the pessimist extraordinaire was an enchanter. A master of the art of manipulating emotions and thoughts. What a walking contradiction! With such a skill, why couldn't he simply brainwash himself with giddy happiness, pleasant memories and false hope? Why would he suffer through all those debilitating thoughts, and even painful ones?

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

Even though it could not have been anyone else (the addled girls Arquen and Imoen had a distinct way of banging a door if they were not picking the lock; and unless Rasaad had a death wish he would never dare approach her), Viconia was still surprised to see Xan standing outside her room.

Perhaps it was his peculiar appearance – Xan had his cloak on with his hood pulled around his head so tight that only the inner corners of his eyes could be seen.

"Ae ghdd ynrr mmsscch," the elf said under his muffle mask, completely unintelligible. "Cnn ei kmnm nn."

"Are you are honestly not aware of how ridiculous you appear? I cannot make out what you are saying, you idiot!" Viconia told him sharply.

He tipped his forehead down and released the bottom of his hood slightly. "Can I come in?"

Viconia stepped aside to let the elf enter her room. Xan dragged himself in, keeping his head lowered the whole time. Even as he stood in the centre of the room, he kept his gaze on the floor as if her face had been superimposed onto the carpet. Viconia folded her arms across her chest and waited for the elf to speak.

"Seldarine, this is so mortifying. Death by a twisted neck would've been kinder," Xan let out a defeated sigh as he pulled down his hood.

Circus displays didn't normally amuse the drow, but Viconia found herself chewing down hard on her lips, which started trembling uncontrollably at the sight of Xan. One side of the elf's face – from temple to chin and covering the whole of his left cheek – had been impressively marked with a large, pale red handprint.

_Well done, moon-child!_ Viconia thought, with never-felt-before appreciation of the Sun Soul Monk.

"Your message was duly conveyed," Xan said meekly, still not daring to establish eye contact. He heaved his shoulders and sighed miserably. "Healing potions cured the sting, but I am unable to rid the scarring from the burns. Don't you think it was a bit excessive to ask Rasaad to use his Flaming Fist on my face?"

"I said nothing about using his fire abilities. How inspiring, truly! I never imagined the moon-child capable of self-initiative!" Viconia said, genuinely impressed. Who knew Rasaad had it in him to exploit his 'light', when sprawling himself over a bed drunk with an open invitation to fellate already seemed like such a bold step towards adulthood!

"Please stop encouraging Rasaad to behave like an outraged virgin!" Xan begged, finally looking at her. His blue eyes flashed wide pleadingly to her at first, then slowly the cloud formed back over them with that defeated, hollow look.

Viconia hissed at the elf with a glare, "At least he dares still to approach me in my state of fury. You, on the hand, are a true coward."

"Battle heroics aside (though nearly all accomplished through dumb luck), believe me when I say that kissing a drow was one of my bravest acts."

Viconia lifted a brow. "I wasn't referring to that, you dolt."

The pale moon elf turned pink, and the handprint a darker shade of red. "You weren't?"

"I was referring to your deliberate attempts to avoid me _after_ your pathetic slobbering act!"

"Oh." Xan swallowed, cleared his throat, and shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other. "Are you seeking an apology?"

Viconia rolled her eyes. One thing she never understood about surface dwellers was their repentance for every possible wrongdoing, from bumping into each other's shoulders by accident when walking ("Oops! Sorry about that!" they would exclaim) to ejaculating too quickly during sex ("Oops! Sorry about that!" Nearly in the same manner).

"Because I am not at all sorry for what I did," the elf continued, daring to narrow his eyes at her, to Viconia's surprise. If he had apologized, debased himself like so many surface weaklings commonly do, Viconia would've immediately casted him into the Confirmed List of Cowards and decided that he would not be worth her time anymore. But he didn't apologize. Moreover, those deep blue orbs with gold flecks flashed her a stubborn, defiant look.

"So why have you come?" she demanded.

"Because I was _forcefully_ informed that you were looking for me," Xan said, tipping his chin up. Then he pointed at his face. "Secondly, you need to wipe this deformity off my cheek, seeing you caused it."

Unexpectedly bold of the elf to speak to her like so, but … fair enough. She would admire a forthright character. Viconia raised her hand over his face, chanting slowly and watching the handprint glow a bright yellow, somewhat comically like a glow-in-the-dark glove, before it faded away. For a moment, she kept her hand on his restored cheek, touching its smooth, pale skin. She wondered how he would've reacted had she been the one to slap him yesterday. At the same time, she also wondered how … _beautiful_ his features were for a male.

Xan cleared his throat as if he read her thoughts and she lowered her hand back under her folded arm.

"If I may ask," the elf spoke slowly, "Were you offended? With the kiss?"

_Kissing a goblin with rotted teeth that had just wallowed in a pigsty's filth would have been more desirable_ was what Viconia _wished_ to say. But some form of madness overcame her tongue and she found herself speaking the truth. "No."

Next, she felt compelled to ask Xan in return, "Were you seeking to offend me? With the kiss?"

"You may consider me mad in saying this, but … no."

How peculiar, and disturbing it was, that they felt the same way. But if they were _not_ offended, and if they rather _enjoyed_ the experience, then ... it shouldn't feel wrong, should it? But clearly it also shouldn't feel right.

They stood there for almost a minute staring at each other. Viconia couldn't read Xan's stoic expression but she was battling inside her mind _not_ to fantasize over him kissing her. She tried again to attribute the elf with the irredeemable arrogance and honed hatred of his race, that he may repel her, but she couldn't.

Xan cleared his throat again, which she thought must be parched by now. "I must admit my opinion of you has changed since you started traveling with us, though it is still too early to tell if you will be the destruction of this band."

"You would think me terrible enough, elf, if you knew enough about me. I am drow … make no mistake about that," Viconia assured him. "But I must admit that you, too, are not so terrible ... for a lowly male, that is ... of a detestable race ... and surface scum ... who fancies the color purple … not to mention a shit –"

Xan waved his hand in front of her to stop her from continuing. "I suppose now that both of us have the … clarifications we sought, I shall take my leave," he said, and turned around to dash towards the door. He opened the door, made his exit and shut the door behind him within a record speed of 1.89 seconds.

Viconia stood in the centre of the room in a muddled state of mind for what seemed like a long time until there was loud banging on the door this time around. Was it Xan coming back?

She opened the door to the excitable faces of Arquen and Imoen instead. It was uncanny how the two girls could buzz with such level of energy that hummingbirds looked sluggish in comparison. They invited themselves into the suite without asking her.

"Viconia!" the half-elf announced with a beaming smile, "We've got the perfect spell that will do absolute wonders to you!"

Taking a cue from Xan, Viconia said sharply, "That sounds mightily suspicious!"

"You have to trust us!" Imoen declared next, making their plan all the more suspicious. However, since she was feeling exhausted from her encounter with Xan, Viconia decided to amuse the girls by agreeing.

"Brilliant!" Arquen quipped as she stepped in front of Viconia and raised her hands.

Then she lowered them again. "Um … you should cast it, Immy. I don't want to turn another person into a hermaphrodite with three breasts again," she said nervously.

Alarmed, Viconia raised her hand to stop Imoen from casting the spell but before she could do so, Imoen had caused a gust of chill wind to blow down on her from head to toe. A prickling sensation seeped across her skin.

Arquen let out a squeal of delight. The half-elf started jumping up and down and clapping her hands like a cymbal-banging monkey toy. "Immy, it worked! It worked!" Then she grabbed Viconia by the arm, pulled her over to the mirror and pointed at the blonde-haired, rosy-cheeked, sparkling-blue-eyed, cherry-lipped, big-bosomed elf inside it.

When Viconia put her fingers to her cheek, it shocked her that the blonde elf did exactly the same.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?" she screamed, as did the elf in the mirror.

"Calm down, Viconia!" Arquen said, her enthusiasm not at all dampened by the rage radiating out of Goldilocks. "We do this so you can move about freely in town. Wouldn't it be great to experience how people react to you differently without scorn or prejudice?"

"I would rather be pelted by hailstones and rotten fruit than be an elf!"

"_Or_ you could get away with any depraved act you've always wanted to do in public, knowing that you won't be humiliating yourself but just the elf race!" Imoen suggested, surprising Viconia with so much vindictiveness behind that innocent grin.

"Let us make our grand entrance downstairs! Go fetch the rest, Immy!" Arquen said and her pink-haired sister immediately skipped off.

Viconia looked into the mirror again to see the pale creature donning her green dress. She wanted to hurl, feeling as if she'd just gained two hundred pounds, lost an eye and transformed into a monster. Was this how shapeshifters felt upon taking the form of a beast? She could see in the reflection of Arquen standing in a cocky pose and grinning proudly behind her.

Viconia growled, "One day, I swear, you will live with the face of a drow for weeks!"

"Won't that be something to experience!" Arquen said, disturbingly cheerful about the prospect.

* * *

><p>As they set foot into the tavern, Viconia already felt self-conscious about some of the heads that turned their way. Arquen normally had people casting glances at her, some to gawk at the attractive blonde, some to shake their heads in disgust at one of her many melodramatic acts, and some to match her description to the bounty notice.<p>

This time around, Viconia felt the dozens of eyes trailing her every move with the complete opposite expression of horror and shrieks she had became accustomed to with her drow form. The half-elf had her arm linked around hers, navigating the long way around tables to parade Viconia like a bride. There were jaws agape with suspended breathing, eyes the size of saucers and legs crossing.

Not an altogether terrible experience. Perhaps she could enjoy this masquerade after all. Arquen steered her towards the round table where Imoen had seated two familiar male figures.

When they reached the table, Xan looked up with slowly-enlarging eyes just as Rasaad turned around. As always, the monk casted his first smile at Arquen before noticing there was someone else attached to the half-elf. "Have you a new friend, Arquen? Well met!" he greeted her affably.

"Greetings!" Viconia purred mockingly at the males, arching her back and striking a pose. "Does this elven glow spur lustful thoughts? Does this pale beauty give you males singular twinges of desire?"

Rasaad paused for a moment, blinking several times, then he let out a chuckle. "Ah, it is you, Viconia!" he exclaimed in his idiot-savant moment. "The instant you opened your mouth, it completely dispelled that illusion of the radiant form! What a splendid disguise to mask the true creature you really are!"

Did he just ... Viconia found the monk's words insulting, even more than if he had shouted "fuck you, drow!" Even more disconcerting was the complete sincerity in his tone and the fact he had _no idea_ he had just uttered a slight. First slapping Xan with fire and now spouting sarcasm with unconscious competence?

The Selunite was evolving. She had better destroy him soon!

In an unimpressed voice, Xan said very slowly, "You ... look … like …"

"Hanali Celanil. Isn't that brilliant?" Imoen cut in with a proud quip.

"Ah, The Heart of Gold, Winsome Rose, Archer of Love, Kiss of Romance, Lady Goldheart. Deity of romantic love and beauty within the Seldarine," Rasaad joined in, as he removed the cutlery from the table napkin casually. "'Life is worth living because of the beauty found in the world and the love that draws twin hearts together. Nurture what is beautiful in life, and let beauty's glow enliven and brighten the lives of those around you'," he recited, causing everyone to turn and stare at him in stunned disbelief.

"YOU are familiar with the teachings of Hanali?" Arquen asked the monk in an incredulous voice.

"Of course."

In the flash of a moment, the half-elf had pulled a chair right up to the monk and sat so close to him that her thighs were hugging his knee and partially humping it. She placed one hand against her chest and the other against his. "'The greatest joy is the rapture of newfound love and the tide of romance that sweeps over those wrapped in its embrace. Find love wherever it takes root, and bring it to its fullest bloom so that all may share in it joy and beauty it creates'," Arquen recited in a breathless dreamy voice, gazing at the monk with worshipful affection.

"'Always give shelter and succor to young lovers, for their hearts are the truest guides to life's proper course,'" Rasaad quoted the next line. He returned Arquen's longing gaze with a dazzling smile. A ring of pink hearts appeared to dance in a circle clockwise around the half-elf's head. Viconia looked on curiously as Xan started reaching into his pockets with a sigh to take out his gold for the bet he was about to lose. Beside them Imoen clenched her fists until her knuckles trembled – about to burst if not die from seeing Rasaad hit with the realization of his puppy love right in front of him.

Then Rasaad turned his attention back to his napkin origami. He folded a boat.

Upon the failed romantic interlude ending with Arquen violently sinking the origami boat to the bottom of a bowl of broth, Viconia took a seat next to Xan at the round table. As he turned to her, she flipped her shimmering blonde hair in slow motion.

"I can see right through your disguise, Viconia," Xan sighed, rapping his fingers on the table. "Why do you even feel the need to do this? Have you not realized that the girls and their spellcasting are more unpredictable than a wild surge from a wild mage? Why … why couldn't you just cut two holes in a bed sheet and throw it over yourself?"

Viconia twirled a lock of gold hair with her finger. "The girls thought it would amuse your old comrades greatly. Do I not look breathtaking?"

"You look like a goddess," Xan mumbled, lowering his head to stare into his cup for a moment. Then he looked back up with an arrogant-bastard expression. "Which you are not. And stop masquerading as an elf, Viconia! You are not one, never will be –"

"I am born of a noble race," Viconia interrupted him by snapping. "Why would I aspire to be a weak fibre-bodied race, frolickers amongst daisies that require sunlight to grow in the same manner as plants!"

"You already possess beauty so breathtaking that all men stop to stare at you in awe or panic!" the elf blurted. Then instantly flushed pink in the ears.

His embarrassment was saved by a half-elf couple approaching the table. The tanned male had reddish brown hair, which was chin-length and combed neatly. He wore a simple brown day tunic with a double wrapped black leather belt carrying a long sword. Though he appeared honed with the skills of a warrior, his lips seemed to tremble with a grimace-smile as he perused the faces at the round table.

Perhaps his partner had something to do with it, Viconia thought of the female who had sharp features for a mongrel, with an even sharper expression. Her light blue elvish eyes, even more angular than Arquen's, had a glare so intense it could cut through glass. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back by several knotted rows on the top of her head and fell about her shoulders. She had an aristocratic look about her, but her manners exhibited roughness as she stood with her hands on her hips. Unlike her male's perusal to acknowledge and greet every individual at the table, her scrutiny was to determine that none of them had misbehaved in her absence.

Arquen slipped an arm over Viconia's shoulder. "This is the wonderful cleric I told you about. Jaheira, Khalid, meet Viconia!"

"Well met!" Khalid said in an awkward voice, as if between hiccups, and still displaying his grimace-smile.

"Delighted," Jaheira muttered with an icy look before turning to the girls. "You do realize this charade isn't going to last, don't you? And that it does nothing to change my opinion on matters except to despair at the extent of your audacity."

Arquen stood up, also with her hands on her hips and began a glaring contest with the druid. "Oh but we did this because it's our last day in Beregost, and we would like Viconia to enjoy a day out when she isn't hunted, spat at, and subjected to such awful, terrible prejudice."

The bickering between the older and younger half-elves carried on throughout their meal. Viconia noticed that in between very mundane discussions ("Khalid, what polish do you use for your shield?"; "Let us list down the expiry dates of all our spices so we know which ones to use first in Cloakwood."), Imoen, Rasaad, Xan _and _Khalid started communicating with each other through a sign language they appeared to have developed among themselves during their earlier travels, which included thumbs subtly pointing out all possible exit points, forefinger and thumb coming together or moving apart at the end of every sentence to rate its danger level, and whatever Imoen's rinsing-a-cloth sign could have meant.

"So Xan wasn't exaggerating for the first time and was actually bleeding to death?" Jaheira was exclaiming over the breaking of bread loaves. "Silvanus help me! Arquen, you are so young. Please listen to the wisdom your elders!"

"But that is exactly why I desire Viconia's company," Arquen quickly explained in her most serious tone of voice, though from what Viconia had observed so far about the half-elf, such a tone meant her motives were less sincere and more suspect. "Two hundred years of her wisdom and experience as a cleric. None of us can match up to her. Well, maybe Xan, but I'd really love to have a WOMAN I can look up to …"

There was an epic twitch in Jaheira's eye, commonly a sign of the infirm about to suffer a stroke.

Viconia was rather enjoying the backhanded insults between the half-elves when a bold moustachioed human marched right up to her. "You ... are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes upon!" he exclaimed. He dropped a bag the size of a pumpkin by her feet. Gold coins spilled onto the floor as he presented her next with a bouquet of fifty red roses. Then he unrolled a contract with the heading "Transfer of Ownership" and a long-winded list of details on the table, and placed a quill and an ink pot next to it.

"I lay down my estate to you if you shall be my betrothed this day!" the man gushed as he got down on one knee next. He took out a small jewelry box and opened it with the contents facing her. Inside was a ring with a diamond the size of a small grape. Arquen and Imoen gawked as they stared back and forth between the man and the bag of gold. Uncannily similar to the drow practice of forcing children to watch a tentacle-rod torture in order to desensitize them to violence, the girls held Rasaad down and compelled him not to look away. Even Jaheira couldn't mask the shade of green envy her face had turned, which was in direct contrast to the redness of the roses, and Khalid's lips trembled with insecurity.

The next thing she knew, Xan had grabbed her by the hand, yanking her up from her seat.

Upon giving the man a glare that threatened to set his moustache on fire, Xan escorted Viconia out of The Jovial Juggler.

* * *

><p>Outside The Jovial Juggler, Viconia squinted slightly as the sun glared down at her. Even though she had the body of an elf, she didn't feel the urge to worship the noonday heat, sparkle under the sunlight or exhibit any strange phenomenon.<p>

"Where are we going?" Viconia turned to Xan.

"Feldepost's Inn, to purchase some items for our travels," Xan mumbled, still holding onto her hand tightly as they walked past the few houses with timber frames and lawns strewn with firewood and barrels. On their left to the south, summer trees lined the fringe of the town and swayed their flame-colored leaves with the small breeze that made the noon more bearable for her sensitive skin.

The drow had never walked hand in hand with a male before. She peered down at Xan's slender fingers interlacing with her own, their palms touching and sharing the same warmth. It stirred up within her strange but pleasant feelings. The enchanter even felt like a weapon at her side, his arm tucked over hers as if leading her. Perhaps hand-holding wasn't something only little children could do after all?

Viconia noticed that the townsfolk regarded her with a different kind of interest today. Like how the males at the inn stared at her elvish form, she continued to draw admiring glances, but with Xan holding her hand, it kept them at a see-no-touch distance. Some women smiled in greeting, admiring their elvish beauty. If only they could learn how to admire the true beauty of drow, she thought, which was so much more refined than albino creatures!

Xan let go of her hand when they entered Feldepost's Inn and headed up the wooden steps to the elevated section, separated from the dining hall by a row of marble pillars. There the innkeeper displayed a few shelves and tables of simple weaponry and goods for sale.

The fat man greeted Xan with a frown. "The lady is welcomed, but YOU, pretty boy, I need to say GET LOST. You are banned from this inn!" He pointed at a noticeboard on the wall behind him, which had wanted posters of criminals, job vacancies, a missing chihuahua poster (with a reward of five thousand gold if found alive) and a 'Banned for Life' section with sketches of Arquen, Imoen, Rasaad, Xan, Kivan and her drow self.

Xan regarded the noticeboard incredulously – Viconia noted that his portrait was particularly androgynous – and started narrowing his eyes at the fat man. "You are mistaken. That is clearly another elf," he muttered in a monotonous tone.

The innkeeper was instantly charmed. "Oh, my apologies, good sir, I am mistaken. You elves all look alike! Even the two of you could pass for twin sisters!" he said, which caused Xan to turn a shade closer to his purple robes. "I thought you were part of this notorious group who trashed one of our rooms a tenday ago. I had to refit the entire place! They destroyed everything, those louts. Even the ceiling's got a hole in it!"

"Such uncivilized creatures!" Xan exclaimed as he rolled his eyes. "Could I have a look at your magical trinkets please?"

"Hmm, if it's trinkets you want, I've got this shiny amulet." The innkeeper retrieved a small glass box from behind the counter. Inside the box was an amulet with double white gold bands that weaved towards a small amethyst pendant. "They call it The Protector. Meant to be entrusted to the royal guard of King Pyronan of Impiltur. Sure it may have protected one of them in battle but it didn't protect them lot from fighting each other over who should wear it, like quintuplets fighting over the best dress in the prom dress store."

Xan rested his elbows on the counter as he fingered the amulet and laid it across his palm, examining the design and, no doubt, its magical properties. To Viconia's surprise, he then turned around and held it up in front of her.

"It looks fetching on the lovely lady too." The innkeeper gave Viconia a wink as he tugged at his green vest and puffed his chest. She raised a bemused brow at the grinning man as Xan cleared his throat loudly.

"Do you have anything else?"

"I have this ring called My Precious that turns you invisible, and also slightly mental. Used to be owned by a halfling by the name of Frodo Baggins."

"Hmm ... no, thank you," Xan muttered, still eyeing the amulet. "How much is the amulet?"

"For you, good elf? An incredible discount of fifty gold off its original price of five thousand."

Viconia flinched even though Xan didn't. That seemed like a lot of money for their group at this point! "Fair enough," he said. "Give us a pouch of masterwork bullets as well."

"Aye," the innkeeper said and turned around to rummage through his storage of ammunition.

Xan handed the necklace to Viconia without saying a word.

"What special occasion warrants such a gift?" she asked him teasingly as she accepted it.

The elf masked an indifferent expression. "We leave for Cloakwood tomorrow. Though we will probably end up lost in the wilderness, only to be found by vultures as carrion, it doesn't hurt to be well-equipped," he mumbled as he watched her put the amulet on.

Since the elf was being so generous, Viconia decided that the least she could do was treat him to a view of her neck. She swept her hair behind her shoulders before she slipped the chain around her neck slowly, letting the pendant dip low into her cleavage. She was very certain the elf was enjoying the view as Xan lowered his eyes from her face to the pendant and lingered.

When she clasped the chain in place, the elf's expression suddenly changed. His eyes widened in horror.

Viconia tugged at the pendant to peer down at it. Did it just trigger a spell or curse? The amethyst stone, which was the same color as her drow eyes, stared back at her with no effect, but the fingers clasped around it now had her original ebony skin instead of the pale shade she had for the last two hours.

The innkeeper turned back to them just then and dropped the pouch of bullets from his hands. "Dear dead Feldepost! Did your grave stumble into the Underdark?!" he exclaimed, staring at Viconia with that all-too-familiar look of terror.

Quickly, Xan waved his hand and a spell over Viconia, then held his hand up at the man. The innkeeper blinked several times, but, incredibly, managed to resist the elf's spell. "Where did she go?" he demanded. "Wait a minute! I recognize that drow, and you _are_ the same mage from before … you destroyed my room, and now you are trying to rob me, aren't you?!" He came out from behind the counter and jabbed Xan's chest with his fat finger.

Viconia held up her hands in front of her, and realized she could see Xan through her hands because he had turned her invisible, and he was now trying desperately to contain the situation.

"No, I am not trying to rob you," Xan said as calmly as possible, attempting to wrestle control over the man's thoughts again.

The frowning man leaned forward at the elf and pointed at the top of his shaven head. "You aren't going to manipulate my mind, mageling! Bluffing me at cards, charming me during a blind date, maybe, but you can never fleece my wares! You see this Ward Against Bartering symbol? I carved the symbol into my head with a sewing pin myself!"

"I am counting my gold as we speak!" Viconia could sense Xan losing his patience as he gritted his teeth. "Last thing I want is a fathead getting all bent out of shape!"

"HOW DARE YOU CALL ME FAT!"

The outraged fat innkeeper let out a scream and grabbed Xan, lifting the elf several feet off the floor before he could utter a spell. He flung him down the steps like a sack of potatoes, where Xan crashed into a table with five servings of onion soup. Before Xan could scramble to his feet, the innkeeper dove on him with a headbutt drop to his ribs.

Not daring to dispel her invisibility and reveal her drow form, Viconia ran outside and crouched in a corner by the steps. Aside from the general feelings of battle anxiety, Viconia also experienced the strange sensation she had come to know as 'guilt' in the surface world. She hadn't felt at all guilty during the previous debacle at Feldepost's Inn that resulted in them getting banned for life, Kivan being the one to blame for smashing all the furniture in the room unprovoked. This time, she felt guilty for her drow form causing the innkeeper's reaction. Most of all she felt guilty for being the bearer of The Protector, as she was certain that Xan needed all the additional magical armor protection he could get, judging by the missiles in the shape of cucumbers and peeled onions flying out the windows, followed by clouds of smoke blowing out the door.

A few moments later, Xan was deposited onto the street, covered in sludge with pieces of sliced mushrooms and onions, which Viconia recognized as ingredients from the fireside tarts, Feldepost's Inn's house specialty.

Viconia ran over to Xan to pull him to his feet. "Do the onions hurt? For dignity's sake, can you cast another invisibility spell on yourself?"

Xan shook his head miserably, apparently having casted his one and only memorized invisibility spell on her.

They walked as swiftly as they could back to The Jovial Juggler. On the way, children pointed and laughed at the elf drenched in soup and sherry, with all food categories from the nutrition guide pyramid stuck to his robes and hair. Some observant townsfolk also noticed that he was no longer walking next to the Hanali Celanil lookalike and jeered loudly, "Ooo, so the beautiful elf dumped your sorry ass!"

The elf hung his head down, more miserable than she had ever seen him before, in his crowning ignominy.

* * *

><p>Why was she still affected by … gnawing thoughts of Xan, accompanied by feelings of guilt alongside indebtedness? Viconia wondered as she fingered her new amulet absently, trying her best to pay attention to Imoen's tale on polymorph spells. "Imagine a day in the life of a mustard jelly! You could wobble across all sorts of surfaces and even battle a lich!" the girl was currently saying cheerfully as the three women ate their last supper together in Beregost.<p>

Viconia couldn't help thinking about the earlier incident of Xan being attacked by the entire Feldepost's Inn menu. If she hadn't followed him there and had her illusion dispelled at such bad timing, their shopping would've gone by uneventful (but would she have gained the amulet then? Perhaps the trinket was worth letting Xan get squashed under a four hundred pound man?). Unsurprisingly, the elf had requested to be left alone and for dinner to be sent to his room (specifically requesting for dishes not containing mushrooms and onions).

Her thoughts were interrupted by Rasaad's figure standing in front of the table.

"Do you have a bottle of shampoo you could spare?" the monk asked the three women. All eyes looked up questioningly at the monk, whose head was so bald and shiny, it reflected the flickering light from the chandeliers above them.

He continued his query with unsettling innocence. "Oh, I almost forgot – it has to be _scented_ shampoo, one that can get rid of any foul smell."

Jaws hit the table right then before the retching took over, faces blanched with trauma and eyes shifted downwards to where his monk garb draped a piece of cream-colored fabric patterned with a large symbol of Selune over his groin.

"Another thing, does anyone have a spare hairbrush?"

"Rasaad, since when did you develop such a SICK mind?!" Arquen, the most horrified of the three of them (and still seething from the rejection earlier today, thus seizing any opportunity to yell at the felon who scorned her), snapped. "That's _bloody disgusting!_ Will you go into explicit details next on how the brush is going to be used for untangling coarse curly hair?"

The monk could only blink stupidly. "Uh, I am aware I may not be the most observant person when it comes to physical appearances, but I am fairly certain it is straight, slightly wavy, with centre parting … You should know, Arquen. You have a similar style, except your hair is much longer. And blonde, of course."

The half-elf's face turned into a beetroot.

"W-we were in the wilderness for days! I haven't had time for proper grooming!" she blurted.

"Whatever you used yesterday would probably work best, though," Rasaad continued, still with a straight face as if he was talking about weather philosophy. "You hadn't bathed for two days before that, remember? Yesterday when you pressed yourself against my face, you did smell, uh, somewhat musky."

"I thought you said nothing happened yesterday! Oh gods! TOO MUCH INFORMATION!" Imoen screamed. She shut her eyes, covered her ears with her hands, and started singing "la la la la" repeatedly at the top of her voice.

"I wash at least twice a day and I normally trim also shave sometimes I wax everything off I swear!" Arquen rattled loudly over Imoen's mental-asylum manner of singing, desperate to regain her feminine pride.

"You ... do? How is it possible?" Rasaad leaned over the table slightly – the three of them shuddered and held their breaths – and touched one of the blonde's braids to inspect it.

Something sounded amiss to Viconia ... "Are you actually talking about hair care for yourself, monk?" she had to ask.

"Huh? Whatever would I need shampoo and a hairbrush for? I have been shaving my head ever since I was eight! _Xan_ asked me to fetch the items," he said with his permanent look of confusion. Then he stared at Arquen. "Who – what did you think I was talking about? Arquen, what were _you_ talking about?"

There was a moment of profound silence when Dumb Blonde met her match with Dumb Bald.

"FORGET EVERYTHING I SAID!" Arquen squealed, fanning her face as if that could somehow blow away all the redness and humiliation.

Oh, this was so wickedly hilarious! If it hadn't involved Xan and given her an excuse to seek him out, Viconia would have definitely stayed to watch and contribute to the two disgracing themselves instead of standing up. "I shall attend to the elf's requests," she said.

"That is very generous of you, Viconia. Thank you." Rasaad, ever so chaste and blissfully ignorant, smiled at her appreciatively. It was the perfect time to perform the Daily Destruction of Selunite ritual.

"It is my pleasure," she said sweetly. She then patted him on the shoulder and added, "Just to enlighten you, monk, Arquen thought you were referring to the untamed hairiness and awful scent of her nether regions."

"VICONIA!" the half-elf shrieked just as the wheels in Rasaad's head squeaked into motion.

"No, Arquen, I was not at all referring to that part when I held your hips. Even though you hit my face with your thighs, I do not recall smelling anything awful. To be honest I cannot remember what you looked like naked because I got distracted by the book and –"

And Viconia let the conversation go downhill on its own and left.

* * *

><p>When Xan opened the door, Viconia flourished the bottle of dewberry-scented shampoo and an unused hairbrush with a shake from side to side.<p>

"Wh-what are you doing here?" the elf asked, though he gladly accepted the shampoo and brush.

"Did you realize you sent a _bald_ monk on an errand to acquire shampoo?"

Xan pinched the insides of his eyes and groaned. "Should I ask what happened?"

"Well, if the monk ever kneels down at Arquen's altar, he would not be finding spider legs on his tongue."

"How in the world did _shampoo_ descend into – even be _associated_ with – no, I do _not_ want to know!" Like Imoen, Xan appeared traumatized by bad mental images as he started hitting his forehead with his palm repeatedly. "Well, thank you for the items, regardless. I've washed my hair five times and doused myself in oils but still the smell of onions remains!"

He was about to turn away but saw that Viconia wasn't planning to leave just yet. "Is there something else, Viconia?"

"I would still like to have your company tonight," Viconia told him.

"Don't mock me any further with your bizarre fetishes!" he moaned, looking vexed.

"I wasn't thinking of bedding you, you filth-minded male! I only wish to sit with you as you read … or whatever it is you do."

Xan flushed pink. "You wish to suffer the boredom of watching me study my spellbook?"

Viconia nodded, thoroughly amused by the elf's perplexed face.

"Very well, if you wish," he finally said, letting her in.

Viconia entered the suite and promptly made herself at home. Xan had a pile of books strewn across a table, which she picked up to examine their titles and contents briefly. Amongst others there were several books on _H__istory of Waterdeep, History of the Drow,_ and _The Bell Jar._ She walked over to open the mahogany wardrobe to finger the spare purple robe and silver elvish tunic that hung inside. On his bedside table she spotted his journal, which had a padlock and glyph that emanated a sinister aura so she daren't touch it.

When she started playing with five smooth stones on the writing desk, attempting to stack them on top of each other, Xan cleared his throat loudly. "I see that the invasion of privacy is not only a peculiar habit of Arquen and Imoen's."

"You have five pet rocks," she remarked.

"They are _runes_, Viconia, runes. _Not_ pet rocks." Xan took the stones away from her and swaddled them in a piece of cloth like a blanket. Then he pointed at the two-seater sofa in the middle of the room. "Weren't you just going to sit quietly?"

Viconia sat down on the sofa and pulled a cushion over her lap like an infant, fingering the silk covers and embroidery.

"Why don't you entertain yourself?" Xan handed her a book called _Calming Meditations: 100 Soothing Tips_. "Rasaad thought it would be of some help to me, but I think the suggestions are all impossible to do. But perhaps you might find something useful."

With nothing better to do, Viconia flipped to a random page.

_When life threatens to overwhelm you, contemplate the vastness of the sky. Picture the clouds making way for an endless blue sky of possibilities and dreams._

"It is the sky that gives me the most nightmares and vertigo!" Viconia felt dizzy just thinking about the passage, about the unsettling fact that there was no roof to this world. What a stupid suggestion! She turned to another random page.

_When strong emotions like anger or depression attempts to crush your spirit, whistle to yourself, inhale a slice of lemon and imagine the sun dancing with the rainbow. _

Viconia couldn't think of anything worse than the warning sound of guard dogs being summoned, the scent of something that was used to keep latrines fresh, and mentally blinding herself (whilst spinning around seven colors madly) when the surface brightness was already terrible enough in reality!

"This is rubbish!" she muttered and dropped the book next to her feet. She glanced at Xan by her side. He was already in his own world as he pored over his spellbook.

Viconia decided to lean back and watch the elf. Apart from his delicate features, which Viconia thought very feminine – even among a race of flat-chested females and sissy males that looked identical – there was an endearing look about him, with his dark hair that fell about his shoulders and mostly hollow expression. Xan mumbled incantations under his breath as he tapped at symbols on the pages of his spellbook, then unconsciously moved his fingers about as if playing an air piano.

It wasn't the first time they'd sat side by side in that manner; him studying his spells, her watching him study his spells. Last week, when they spent many nights in the forest, with naught else better to do and when the girls' prattling began to give her headaches, she found Xan's company a welcome distraction.

Also, this was their last night in Beregost, in such luxurious accommodations and assured privacy from meddling children and Harpers.

She shifted slightly closer to him until their hips touched. He turned to her briefly – glancing down as if to confirm the space between them was now her dress's green fabric pressing against his grey trouser leg (and that the flesh on their thighs dwell within) – before turning his attention dutifully back to his spells.

Then Viconia rested her head on the elf's shoulder. She felt his body stiffen though he kept his eyes fixed on his spellbook. Indeed the strange smell of onions (now mixed with a desperate sprinkling of lavender essential oil) was still in his hair, but she had been with plenty of men who smelt fouler so it would be the last thing that would offend her.

After ten minutes of Xan reading the same page, followed by his odd manner of frequently swallowing and inhaling only once every minute, Viconia decided to run her hand over the length of his thigh.

Xan dropped his spellbook – it flipped off his knee before landing on the floor facedown – and blushed a furious shade of red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

He stood up and turned to her, blue eyes blazing with a combination of anxiety, confusion and desire.

"I was only trying to thank you for the fine gift of the amulet today," Viconia said teasingly.

Xan looked down at her and the amulet. "I only wanted to … the amulet will protect you in battle. And keep you safe. That the pendant matches the color of your eyes perfectly, is just a coincidence."

"It was not a special gift for me then? A token of affection between a male and female on the surface?" Viconia pouted at him.

"N-no. Because the communion of elves ... is made of trust and love. I–I think it is – never would be – something you would understand. No offense," Xan said, stuttering.

_Trust and love_ ... of course, such concepts were not extended to drow. How could Viconia forget? In the Underdark, there was no such thing as trust and love – only misguided feelings and emotions. That she felt like she owed him something she couldn't quite repay in gold already annoyed her, let alone the idea of trust and love.

Xan extended a hand to her then. Viconia took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. Letting him lead her out of his room in silence. She supposed the elf was going over and beyond the call of courtesy when he walked her back to her own room, holding her hand somewhat limply this time.

After Viconia had unlocked her door, she turned to him. "At the very least, could I bid you good night with a kiss to thank you for all that you did today? I recall this being a surface practice of sorts."

Xan swallowed again. "If-if you wish."

She stepped up to the elf, raising her hands towards his face as he held his breath. Gently, she tucked his hair behind his ears as she looked deep into his eyes, like how she had seen him do so when reaching into another person's mind.

From the tip of his long ears, she ran her fingers over his earlobes slowly, making his blue eyes widen and blaze, then trailed down his cheeks. One hand slid down to his neck then all the way to the back, as the other came to a pause at his jaw as she tipped her own face up.

She pulled Xan towards her and their lips met.

This time their shared moment lasted longer, long enough for Viconia to drink in the warmth and softness of the elf's lips against hers, and his warm, shallow breath. As the moment lingered longer than was necessary, she felt his hands tighten around her waist.

It was also long enough for Viconia to discern that she had bent the enchanter's will to her own, however he may deny it. Though it seemed so strange that being gentle, tender, and, perhaps one could say _pure_, could feel - _be_ – so much more intense than the brutal, carnal force she was used to, she had found another way to breach the defenses of a male.

And confirm what she so often thought: _Surfacers can be so stupid._


	8. 8: Arquen

_NOTES: I'm playing the Xan Friendship MOD for BG for the first time and am experimenting with using mod dialogues. _

* * *

><p>"Finally, we are off to Cloakwood!" Imoen cheered, running down the stairs and jumping off the fourth step. She landed at the bottom with a loud clap, causing her backpack along with its contents to bounce up and down behind her.<p>

Arquen was tempted to follow suit, but decided not to risk breaking her legs before their journey to Cloakwood had even begun, what with her backpack weighing as much as a house and clinging onto her back like a tortoiseshell.

They marched towards the front door of The Jovial Juggler where they saw Khalid standing like a guard, only for the half-elf warrior to direct them to a table where Jaheira had seized Rasaad's backpack and was performing a spot check.

"You do _not_ need to read about gnome dogmas in the wild!" Jaheira scolded as she confiscated a book the size and weight of a small tombstone from his pack. She carried on rummaging through his belongings, checking for items she deemed illegal to bring into the wilderness that the monk could've smuggled in between clothing. When she finally returned his backpack to him, Rasaad looked visibly upset at the mess she had created and no longer having his things arranged neatly according to size, weight and alphabetical order.

Jaheira made Arquen and Imoen surrender their backpacks next, and proceeded to toss out their makeup. "We will be in the wilderness for weeks, where you will _not_ be requiring eyeshadow, perfume and certainly _not_ false eyelashes!"

Animal-shaped balloons, fluffy slippers, teddy bears, romance trilogies, gowns, ball, stiletto boots, colander, chess set, pillows, tambourine. All confiscated.

"You can leave all the _useless_ novelty souvenirs here for safekeeping, but you can _not_ take them with you," the heartless druid told them as she tossed their backpacks back at them, which were half the weight now. A paper dart slipped out of a side pocket from Arquen's backpack.

"This can go too!" Jaheira added, grabbing the origami aircraft. Arquen snatched it back. "I _insist_ on keeping this!" she said sharply.

For the words written on the paper when unfolded were the only clues she had to the mystery surrounding her predicament. It was one of the letters she had found in Tazok's tent:

_Tazok,_

_I have noticed that your shipments of iron have slowed as of late. It is imperative that we receive another ton of ore. Step up your raids, and get a shipment to our base in Cloakwood within the next week. We need to stockpile as much ore as possible before our ultimatum is given. Also, Sarevok wants to know what has happened with the band of mercenaries. Have they been killed? You had better ensure that they have been, as Sarevok will not take kindly to any other news._

_Davaeorn_

_Sarevok ..._ Arquen had no idea who he was and how he seemed to know—and immensely disliked—her. She couldn't recall him being a penpal she never wrote back to, or one of those foreign exchange students at Candlekeep she once locked up in the storehouse (together with the mice). But she figured she must have offended him greatly somehow for him to order a bounty on her head. She would have to find this Sarevok, find out if he had a hand in Gorion's murder, kill him if he did, and solve the iron crisis.

Xan and Viconia appeared in the dining hall next, with the enchanter looking oddly in high spirits that morning. When Jaheira accosted him in the same manner of those before him, he actually smiled at the druid.

"Top of the morning to you! We are ready to leave without further delay," the elf said in a cheerful tone, with the corners of his lips upturned.

Jaheira took a step back. Even the druid sensed how CREEPY it was for Xan to smile instead of sigh and moan. It was as if he had something even more sinister than a mousetrap hidden among his belongings, waiting for someone to stick their hand into it. She paused for a moment, then decided to let the elf and drow go without conducting her spot check (to Arquen and Imoen's annoyance, and even Rasaad noted the unfair treatment).

Xan exchanged a smirk with Viconia as they left The Jovial Juggler side by side.

Arquen stared at their backs as she followed them outside. She couldn't get her head around it—the creepiness of a smiling Xan and the bizarre connection the elf seemed to have developed with the drow lately. Perhaps it was still too early in the morning. Perhaps their mission to Cloakwood and all the mysteries and uncertainties were so overwhelming that everyone had started to act a little crazy, she thought as they departed Beregost.

* * *

><p>"Sorry but I cannot get my head around this," Arquen said to Imoen as they stood at the fringes of Cloakwood the following evening.<p>

Before them Rasaad was running his fifth lap around an acre of forest, chased by a pack of a dozen wolves.

"Well, imagine that the shepherd is Jaheira, the sheepdog is Rasaad and the sheep are, uh, wolves," Imoen suggested.

A tenday ago, the monk would have shattered all canine bones with his deadly fists and skinned the winter wolves for their pelts by now. But with the druid back in their midst, everyone had been firmly warned that the killing of wild animals was strictly forbidden except for food and in self-defense.

A pack of wolves identifying a human man as dinner did not constitute the right to kill in self-defense.

Arquen glanced over at Khalid, who tapped his wife's shoulder to say, "Jaheira, dearest? It appears the wolves are clearly hostile."

"_We_ provoked them by trespassing their territory!" Jaheira snapped, waving her quarterstaff in the air. She whistled some strange tune again that no person nor animal nor plant seemed to understand.

"Or Rasaad could be the fox, the wolves the foxhounds, and Jaheira the Mistress of Foxhounds," Arquen remarked, watching Rasaad and the wolves dash around the trees in a zigzag line.

"Why do you not describe it just as it is?" Viconia said, her face turning from left to right and back again repeatedly as she watched the live episode of surface animal behavior. "The monk stumbled upon a pack of wolves whilst scouting ahead. The druid threatened to turn him into fertilizer if he laid his fists on the creatures. He is now trying to lose the wolves through fatigue or boredom as the druid attempts to establish a communion of sorts. Irony dictates that the animals, like people, would refuse to listen to her commands. Standing over there is the enchanter, who actually has a spell to hold animals memorized but he is too amused by the scene at the moment to cast his spell."

Rasaad resorted to climbing a tree just then. The wolves gnashed their teeth at him, leapt up on their hind legs whilst ferociously snapping at his boots, then circled the tree a few times before climbing onto each other's backs to form a wolf pyramid, much to the monk's alarm. Only then did Xan step forward to wave a hand at the wolves.

The wolves turned to the elf and sat to attention.

"Now then, Jaheira, I believe you mean to charm the dogs," Xan said in a somewhat cocky tone, snapping his fingers twice. Jaheira gritted her teeth and whistled at the wolves again, finally charming the creatures successfully. They started wagging their tails like puppies. Upon giving them another wave, the wolves nodded at both druid and elf, then dispersed back into the wilderness.

"Since when did mages have the ability to command animals?" Jaheira remarked in a bitter tone, trying to mask her envy.

"You would be surprised at how many people possess the same level of intelligence as animals," the elf replied with a smirk.

Rasaad climbed back down the tree. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his right hand, then regarded his arm in dismay. Fingering his beaded bracelets, he plucked a wolf tooth out. "I need to … meditate …" he uttered in a strained voice.

"Dusk is nigh. Let us s-set up c-camp here," Khalid suggested, to which no one objected.

* * *

><p>Arquen wondered if Khalid had just set a new record for the longest potato peel as she watched the man expertly prepare the leek and potato stew. The sight of Jaheira hovering over her husband in front of the campfire to monitor his cooking definitely brought back memories of their earlier travels. Jaheira and Khalid did most of the cooking because Imoen and herself often burnt most of their meals, including boiled eggs. Xan wasn't a terrible cook, but he was terrible at receiving criticism and would lace stews with ghost pepper in retaliation. The only other person whose culinary skills Jaheira trusted was Rasaad's, but the monk's patience was being tested on Day Two of their journey into Cloakwood and had gone somewhere by himself to meditate.<p>

"I wonder," Xan wondered aloud as the rest of them sat at a non-interfering distance away from the Harpers, savoring the remaining warmth from the late sunset, "who will rescue us this time?"

Arquen turned to the elf. "Meaning?"

"My last descent to the mines, as you recall, ended in disaster. Now, the Cloakwood mines—will the story repeat itself? And, if it will, and you will join my fate—who will rescue the rescuers? Are you so certain we will emerge out alive, Arquen?"

She looked at the elf, recalling how she first discovered him in the Nashkel Mines. Captured by Mulahey whilst investigating the mines, the half-orc had chained him to the cave wall and gagged him ("Actually he did not gag me at first. Taking away my moonblade and chaining my hands disabled most of my abilities, as you can imagine. It was after I made him realize he suffered from clinical depression and anxiety disorder, and taught his kobolds the word 'despair' and its meaning, that he gagged me to cease my speech."). Although he believed they were doomed to fail in their mission, the elf nevertheless had always expressed his indebtedness to the group for saving his life (or "delaying my death" as he would put it), and thus offering them his service.

Arquen flashed him a determined look to assure him that they would not perish so soon. "Of course I am, Xan. You know me."

Xan sighed loudly. "Nevertheless, I have my doubts." He glanced over at Imoen and Viconia, and rested his eyes on the drow sitting next to him. "I do not think anyone is ready for this. To go is certain doom, _knowing_ how it will end ..."

He sighed again. "Not that I have a choice." He turned back to her. "I do trust you, however."

_I do trust you ..._ What Xan said made Arquen feel a little warm inside, knowing that he was beginning to respect her, in spite of having the Harpers back in their midst with Jaheira clearly wanting to take over the role as leader. Something had also changed about Xan, something that made him less rigid in his way of thinking, inspiring in him hope. Perhaps he considered their uncovering of the bandit camp a great success (without mentioning he was the one who almost jeopardized the mission at one point, of course)? Either that or something had happened during their break in Beregost.

"We still may have to resurrect you, you know," she teased him anyway.

Xan groaned at the thought. "I know, and I am prepared. I do not want to die ... no, that's a silly thing to say—who does?"

He buried his forehead in his hands. "I know I will. I only wish I had more days to spend in the sun ...

"But it is irrelevant. I will follow you," the elf looked up and said resolutely. He glanced at Viconia again. "You will follow us too, won't you, Viconia?"

"I have pledged myself to this group before. I won't disappoint you, I promise," the drow said.

"We stand a better chance now with you around, Viconia," Imoen said encouragingly. "It'll be great though if we still had Ki—uh, a ranger around. They would have handled any raging animal better ... Rasaad's still great for sneaking about, of course. Getting in through the back door and stuff."

"Oh yes, the monk definitely rams into back doors with aptitude," Viconia remarked with a smirk.

Arquen raised a brow at her. "Somehow I don't think you're talking about infiltration tactics. What exactly are you on about, Viconia?"

"Is it not obvious? You must know by now that males appeal to the moon-child more so than females," Viconia said with a straight face.

Trust Viconia to steer the conversation from solving the iron crisis to Rasaad's sexual orientation. Only Viconia!

And trust all of them to immediately abandon their discussion on the grand scheme of things to indulge in the juiciest gossip of the day.

Even Xan, Greycloak agent supposedly on a highfaluting investigation to determine the threat to the elven nation. Who spoke about death and dying only a minute ago. He cocked his head and appeared to be restraining his overeagerness in uncovering more dirt on the sanctimonious monk. "What draws you to this conclusion?"

"Think about it," Viconia continued in a knowing but also chilling tone. "His impeccable hygiene and obsessive need for cleanliness. The accent. He doesn't walk; rather, he floats. Most telling of all, has he ever expressed instinctual male desire for any female, especially _you_, Arquen?"

"Well," Arquen said heatedly as she recalled all her touchy-feely moments with the monk. "He has held my hand back. And he has hugged me back. And carried me when I was drunk..."

_Why does everything sound so horribly one-sided and pathetic now? _

Troubling thoughts raced through her mind when Xan suddenly squeaked, "Oh no ..." He started shaking under his cloak as if the temperature had just dropped by ten degrees with the sunset.

"What's the matter, Xan?" Imoen asked.

"He has given me massages before ... I had a terrible backache once and he asked if—if he could help relieve it. His hands were ... skilled."

"But ..." Arquen exchanged glances with Imoen. "He's never offered us anything..." _Rasaad didn't even know how to hug me and he knows how to give massages to Xan? That's twisted._

"Xan, you have spent the longest time in his company. How many shared bath times at the bathhouses were there?" Viconia teased wickedly.

"Say no more!" the enchanter squealed, covering his ears with his hands like a child as if that could somehow repress his memories.

"Oh, Arquen! Remember that time when we showed him that lewd, obscene drawing of a lady's rack that were as big as melons?" Imoen said rapidly. "Remember we wanted to wind him up and said to him, 'Hey, Rasaad, what gemstone do you think the red jewel on her necklace is?' Remember his reaction?"

"Yes. Instead of saying 'what jewel?', he said 'ruby' and 'it's the symbol of Sharess'."

"And _never forget_ how you stood stark naked in front of him and he decided to read _History of the Dead Three_ instead." Imoen jabbed at Arquen's knee with her finger, as if to really nail it home. Viconia folded her arms with a smug look over her revelation. Xan meanwhile looked like he was crying into his hands as he whimpered to himself, "Why ... why did I have to share that banana with him …?"

Arquen felt like she had just been punched by Rasaad in the stomach. She shouldn't feel gutted ... right? He wasn't a knight in shining armor. Sure he was Body Beautiful which she recently discovered also smelt very nice and she would like all men to smell that way. But, even though she tried to overlook the shining armor (since he looked way better with no armor ... and no shirt for that matter) and tried to pursue him in her pastime anyway, he had never responded to any of her advances. In fact, now that she knew the truth, she could wish him well and maybe, perhaps maybe help him find a nice man who could go stargazing with him.

Just then Rasaad stepped back into the campsite right behind Xan.

Xan let out a girlish scream and ran off in the opposite direction, fleeing into the wilderness.

The monk stared at a tall, thick bush that was now hollow in the middle from the elf charging straight through it. "Why is Xan running away?" he asked with a worried look.

"Obviously you gave him a terrible fright. You should go after him!" Viconia said helpfully. The monk nodded and dashed into the bush archway.

Arquen watched him go and stared vacantly at the bush he had disappeared into. Then, dolefully, she wrapped her arms around her legs, chin resting on her knees.

She was feeling ... not exactly grief but it gnawed at the chest like a sort of mourning. Rasaad wasn't _dead_, but the man she thought she knew so well was.

Again she told herself that she didn't _really_ fancy Rasaad, no matter how many push-ups he could do on two fingers. Or how she could count on him to cook dinner, do her laundry and write expository essays for her. How she could talk to him for hours about anything because either he could speak at great lengths about the historical and philosophical context in encyclopedic detail, or she'd spend the evening explaining her Knock Knock joke.

Now he was officially out of bounds. She felt heartbroken. She tried to distract herself by watching Khalid stir the pot as Jaheira monitored him, but that made her sigh heavily instead because it was a display of the Harpers' marital bliss.

"What troubles you, abbil?" Viconia sidled next to her as Imoen rubbed her back sympathetically.

"I can imagine Rasaad taking a vow of celibacy, or even being asexual. I never thought he would be ... you know."

Viconia chuckled. "You have not even laid with the rivvil yet you let him twist your emotions?"

Arquen felt her face grow hot, and knew the campfire was too far away to have caused the heat. "He's such a sweet person."

"What you profess 'sweet', I deem _weak_. I have never met a more dim-witted male, and I have laid with dozens. Why do you insist on the company of such a pathetic fool?"

"Stop picking on Rasaad, Viconia!" Imoen said. "He is the nicest guy in the world!"

"Have you met every 'guy' in the world? As I can recall, you admitted to not having seen wildlife that was not served to you as venison on a plate before you left Candlekeep."

Arquen and Imoen bit their lips and stared at the ground. Viconia was right. What did they know about the big world out there?

"Trust my wisdom, younglings, you will meet plenty more males—the chivalrous, the noble, the _worthy_ ones. Why waste your time on a _nobody?"_

A bright flame approaching the campsite made the women look up. Rasaad had returned with Xan—with the elf surrounded by a Fireshield and his skin covered in granite layers of Stoneskin. "Be warned that my tent is trapped!" the elf told the monk sharply.

"Well, guess I'll go help out with serving dinner now that everyone's back," Imoen said with a pat on Arquen's shoulder before she went over to Jaheira and Khalid.

Arquen watched the jumpy elf shooing Rasaad away by flicking his hand. "What about Xan?" Arquen asked. "Would you consider him a worthy male?"

The drow glanced over at Xan, who started casting protection glyphs over his tent. She fiddled with her amulet absentmindedly. It had an exquisite amethyst stone that matched the color of her eyes.

"I've never seen that amulet before. It's really pretty," Arquen had to say, wondering how it was possible that she didn't notice such a valuable trinket before.

The drow tugged at the amulet and admired the pendant with a smile … a _genuine _smile_. _Such an expression actually made Viconia look truly beautiful, not just sexually alluring, Arquen thought.

"So ... what about Xan?" she probed.

"Hmm ... The sullen one certainly has the space between his ears filled."

"Is that the main difference? Rasaad's another walking textbook, you know. Only he covers the section on philosophy, religion and cookbooks in the library."

"The elf's heritage provides immense power."

"Rasaad breaks bones with his hands like breadsticks."

"Despite his wretchedness, Xan serves his role well as an ambassador of his land. One could only trust the monk to mediate between children and the mentally infirm."

"For a drow, you sure seem to prefer elves over humans."

That drew a strong reaction from Viconia, who shot her a glare. "I do _not_ favor the abhorrent race above any other! I simply cannot identify a single redeeming quality in the Selunite."

"Ah, so you just rate Xan better than Rasaad then. Nothing to do with race." The drow rolled her eyes in reluctant agreement as Imoen waitressed over two small bowls of stew for them.

"Want to know what I think of Xan?" Arquen said as she dipped her spoon into the hot potato and leek.

"_Do_ enlighten me."

"I do agree that he's intellectually superior when it comes to solving a rubik's cube and stuff like that. He's infinitely more cultured, kind of cute—"

"_Cute?_" Viconia almost spat out her food.

"He carries himself well and has fancy robes. He'll outlive me, and I've got this suitor scorecard that Xan ranks way higher on compared to Rasaad."

"So you consider Xan a better 'suitor'?"

"Ah, but therein lies the issue. I would rather suffer a never-ending tune of two cats mating than his whining! Can you imagine kissing Xan even if it's just to shut his mouth?"

Viconia let out a derisive snort, but her lips curled with a strange smile immediately after. She shook her head more in amusement than as a negative gesture.

Rasaad came over then to sit by Arquen's other side with his own bowl. Upon him sitting down, Viconia mumbled "I am not in the mood for the company of a dullard" and left. Despite the discovery of his dating preferences, Arquen still couldn't stop her heartbeat quickening over Rasaad's close presence.

"My apologies," the monk began in his usual self-effacing way as he stirred his stew. "Did I disrupt your conversation?"

"Oh, we were just talking about Xan," Arquen told him frankly.

"I see," Rasaad said, somewhat quietly. "Xan almost stabbed me with his sword just now. He told me I must always remain a distance of five feet away from him from now on." Rasaad ate a spoonful of stew slowly, then stared into his bowl as if he wasn't hungry anymore.

"You seem unwell. Is something bothering you, Rasaad?"

The monk remained silent and moped into his dinner for a moment. Heaving his shoulders, he said, "Somehow I always end up offending Xan, much as I try not to. The only thing I wish to do is to share my inner light with him, in hopes of lifting his melancholic spirit. This has been his harshest reprimand yet. Am I truly so repulsive to him?"

_Hang on a minute. _Arquen scrutinized the monk's solemn expression. He looked more upset than this morning, when Jaheira threw out his clean and neatly folded clothes from his backpack over the breakfast table, blasphemously mixing together dark, light and colored fabric. He even looked more upset than when he was treated as dog food this evening. He appeared ... _torn up_ over Xan.

COULD IT BE …?

"Um ... just wondering … do you … by any chance … _like_ Xan?"

"Of course I do."

EXACTLY what she thought and feared….

Oh dear ... The poor man! It made perfect sense to her now! Rasaad _always_ spoke about Xan with reverence! "Xan said this", "Xan said that", "Xan will not approve", "Xan only likes purple". He would do _anything_ the enchanter asked him to—prepare his dinner, shine his boots and stand still while Xan read the incantations of an unknown spell scroll at him. Once she even saw Xan throw a stick over a pond and told Rasaad to fetch it, and Rasaad did.

"Rasaad ..." Arquen said, turning to him with tears springing from her eyes, from all the tragedy of unrequited love. How he chose dead god literature over her virginity. How she recited the dogma of Hanali Celanil breathlessly to him, and he responded by folding a table napkin into a boat. How she once hinted big time to him by declaring, "I desperately need a date!" and he had asked her with an uncomfortable look, "Uh, do you have constipation? Jaheira might have figs and prunes." Of course Rasaad could never respond romantically to her—he had been pining after that conceited merchant of doom! And unlike how Rasaad would turn her down with polite humiliation, Xan had always gone all out to act like a jerk towards the monk.

But, love was blind, right? She just admitted to Viconia herself that she dismissed her suitor scorecard in favor of the monk who had The Body. The muscles and abs and all that which were now off limits. If Rasaad really considered Xan prettier than her, and was—against all logic—attracted to the elf's dysfunctional personality, who was she to judge?

If you really liked someone, and cared about them, and possibly loved them, you would want that someone to be happy. That was what the romance novels, chick lit and self-help books always say.

So Arquen rose and threw her arms around the monk's shoulders. She couldn't help it! She needed to express herself, and hugged him so tight the man almost choked on a slice of potato. "I … I accept you just the way you are, Rasaad!" Then she poured out her emotions, kissing him hard on the cheek—her body shuddered in response (gods! How easily the man turned her on!)—then she held him by his broad shoulders at arm's length and stared fiercely into his brown eyes.

"I just want you to be happy, Rasaad! As your bosom friend, I will fight for your happiness!"

The flustered monk stared back at her, his eyes wild with confusion. "I–I do not think 'fighting' and 'happiness' are meant to go together!" he spluttered. Never mind! Arquen thought, one day even Rasaad would understand what she was doing!

Arquen hugged him again before she released him—not just to his dinner but also to destiny—then she ran into the forest to be alone with her shattered young girl's heart. This dramatic scene in all romance stories, of the jilted party running away to some isolated spot to stare into the distance (though if they still had the comfort of an inn, she would've opted for crying facedown into her pillow instead) was really happening to her!

No, she mustn't only think about herself. Rasaad was now considered her GBF, therefore she would do anything in her power to help him find his happiness!

Even if that meant melting Xan's stone cold heart!

* * *

><p>They didn't call the Eleasis month Highsun out of jest, Arquen reckoned as she tied her hair into a ponytail. The sun blazed down on them the next morning as they ventured deeper into Cloakwood.<p>

At first impression, Cloakwood appeared just like all the other forests they had been in. A random scattering of trees, dirt trails, rivers and wild animals inside blue or red circles. But the thought of the Iron Throne concealing a mine somewhere deep within it made their new journey seem all the more foreboding.

Arquen didn't like to think about foreboding matters she couldn't see or visualize in her mind, no matter how great the impact it had on her life. She was a petty thief with some spellcasting skills thrown in for special effects, not the mastermind of a thieves guild. So she focused on the people in front of her. She had opted to march at the back with Khalid, who assumed the responsibility of nervously looking over his shoulder five times a minute and would jump at the smallest thing (like a hopping rabbit or fluttering butterfly), so he didn't have much to say. Rasaad stalked ahead as usual, often disappearing from sight, and Jaheira insisted on walking next to Imoen after catching the girl carving "Imoen was here!" into a tree.

In front of her, Xan walked next to Viconia, in deep conversation.

So disconcerting, it now seemed to her as she watched Viconia turning to her left every so often to grin at something Xan had said. They looked like two bitches flocking together, gossiping. Surely if she wanted to persuade Xan to open his heart to the Selunite, she would have to keep the Sharran's bad influence at bay.

She strode forward and squeezed herself right in between the two elves. Both of them turned to regard her with raised brows.

"I would like to have a private word with Xan," Arquen said with a huff and her chin up. Viconia gave her an amused look, but said, "If you wish." The drow then slinked away out of earshot.

She gave Xan a sidelong glance. This was the third morning in a row that the elf appeared to be in high spirits. Instead of his habitual way of dragging his feet with slouched shoulders and eyes cast downwards as if dragging a chain ball tied to both wrists, he was walking with a confident poise and carried his moonblade over his shoulder like a warrior.

"Yes, I can teach you a spell on how to stop a bear from charging at you and go after Rasaad instead, if that is what you are here for," Xan told her eagerly.

"Actually, I'm here to tell you to stop being so mean to Rasaad," Arquen said.

The elf looked like he had been just been caught in the act of stuffing a litter of kittens into a sack, with plans to throw the sack into a river. Not at all sorry for what he was doing, but sorry that he had been caught. "I beg your pardon?" he said.

"He is such a lovely guy, and you know he would do anything for you. So stop being rude to him and treating him so dismissively! Why must you treat him like a servant?"

"If I am not mistaken, _you_ make him do your laundry and give you pedicures as well. Why the double standards?"

"It–it's different now that I know what he—how he—feels and who his perfect match is!"

Arquen felt flustered along with a twinge of jealousy. How could a mind-reader of above-average intelligence not tell that Rasaad could be his soulmate? Rasaad was the only person who could—and had done so at every inn where they needed shared accommodation—tolerate being in the same room as him. The only person who would say encouraging, stirring words like "though you are the perpetual waning moon, remember that you, too, are part of the brightest light in the night sky." And they were both so darn good-looking that the voyeuristic thought of them making out was so hot, she was already planning on selling tickets for peepshows.

Xan paused in his steps to shoot her a lethal glare. "If you dare to use the word 'match' to mean something other than a contest in which the monk and I fight against each other to the death, I swear by Corellon's long sword I will fry your mind like bonfire," he growled and his moonblade flared up threateningly.

Arquen was not unnerved. "Who would your match be otherwise? Viconia? Unless you want to be sucker bait, hah to that!"

Xan turned a little purple at her remark. She had hit a raw nerve! She could tell that the elf and Viconia were developing some sort of bond—both of them chronically disdainful of other people and having the habit of saying "obviously you were not alive then like I was when that historic event happened one hundred years ago." You couldn't call it friendship because the both of them said themselves that they were incapable of having friends. Not to mention the whole racial taboo and disturbing thoughts on hybrids like ligers, mules, zeedonks or zonkeys. That made them such a toxic duo that they couldn't possibly get together without causing some sort of volcanic eruption.

Not wanting to admit to anything, Xan resorted to glaring at her instead from the corner of his eye. She returned the peripheral glare, until both of them were equally oblivious of their surroundings. They ended up walking right up the pathway of a cottage and was about to open the front door as if it were a tavern when they remembered they were in the wilderness.

Xan held up his hand to signal a recess from their glaring contest and regarded a pair of elk antlers decorating the top of the front door. For a structure in the middle of nowhere, the cottage was finely built unlike the average rough log cabin she had seen. Even the pathway they were standing on was lined with decorative flowerbeds in bright purple and blue.

The front door opened and a middle-aged man in an expensive-looking studded leather armor stepped out. He regarded them curiously though without fear, and said, "I thought pizza delivery was only limited to my estate in Baldur's Gate. What purpose have you wandering this far into Cloakwood? Are you looking to earn some money?"

Daggers shot out of Xan's eyes for being mistaken as a delivery boy, but to Arquen there was no shame involved as long as it led to talk on money. She nodded at the grey-haired man.

He continued, "If you are, I would be willing to pay a considerable amount for your assistance. I am Aldeth Sashenstar, a noble from the city of Baldur's Gate. Perhaps you have heard of me?"

Arquen shook her head, and stomped on Xan's toes to stop him from hurling an insult and ruining their chances at earning some extra money.

"No matter," Aldeth Sashenstar said. "I am looking for some good strong people who could defend me against a band of savages. These ruffians have been threatening my companions and me with bodily harm. Would you be interested?"

"Yes, we would," Arquen said, again before Xan could say anything. She also sensed the rest of their group approaching, and wanted to make a decision ahead of Jaheira.

"Good!" Aldeth exclaimed, adjusting a gold bracelet that looked like ten thousand gold coins had been melted to produce it. "I'm glad you had the sense of decency to help a man in my situation. Let me explain my predicament. My friends and I come here every year to do some sport hunting."

At the mention of "sport hunting", Jaheira appeared behind her and her breath blew down the back of Arquen's neck like a stealthy dragon, hot and menacing.

Aldeth carried on unaffected. "This year however, a group of woodland savages threatened us with bodily harm if we did not stop our hunting trip. Being civilized men, we realized that it's well within our rights to hunt where we damn well please."

This time Arquen stepped on Jaheira's foot to stop the druid from an outburst.

"After a few more days of hunting, the crass woodmen lost all pretense of humanity and murdered Elban, one of my oldest friends. I'm sure that they plan to attack our cottage here, so we had best be prepared." Aldeth turned around and called out to his friends, two men who appeared behind him armed with longbows.

The three noblemen arranged themselves on the trimmed lawn, and regarded their party curiously. Balquo, the blonde man in the dark leather armor with red trimmings ("From the Spring/Summer Collection on Fifth Avenue," he mentioned) prodded Rasaad's biceps as the monk stood with his arms folded. "You look like you've been sent for obedience training. Have you also been neutered? How many years were you bound to your former slaveholder?" he asked, to which Xan was quick to answer, "He's from one of the finest Calishite markets and can be transferred over for a decent price!"

"Would both of you be interested to intern at my tax accounting business?" Palin, who appeared to resemble Balquo in terms of hairstyle and rhinoplasty, only with black hair, a brown leather armor and light blue socks, asked her and Imoen "It is an unpaid internship, but I assure you the six months of experience will be a fantastic stepping stone for whatever career path you may embark upon."

Arquen exchanged looks with Imoen, thinking how very strange the city folk appeared._  
><em>

Jaheira decided to prod for more information from Aldeth, who was presently checking his reflection on the glimmering blade of his bastard sword. He smoothed back down a strand of grey hair that had gone out of place. "So, Aldeth—" she began.

"You may refer to me as 'My Lord'."

"—_Aldeth_, what were you hunting for before the interference from these 'woodland savages'?"

"Oh, whatever we could spot. I like collecting trophies. See the antlers above my door? I yanked it off the elk before its last breath. Then we feasted on this season's best tenderloin steak."

Smoke started trailing out of Jaheira's ears, though Aldeth appeared not to have noticed.

Four men emerged from the woods and approached the cottage just then. Suntanned men of the forest with clothes made of leather and furs and adorned with feathers and bones, wielding quarterstaffs.

The only man wearing an armor with the most elaborate bone accessories stepped towards Aldeth.

"Trespassers and butchers of our wood. I, Seniyad, have come to administer the punishment that you have brought down upon yourselves. Yet, who are the ones that stand beside you? With them we have no quarrel."

Seniyad then regarded them and rested his eyes on Arquen and Jaheira, who stood closest to Aldeth. "It is now you that I speak: These men have most likely duped you into protecting their sorry hides. They have most likely not told of the druid they have slain in cold blood."

Arquen sensed the cauldron inside Jaheira reaching boiling level, though this time she shared the druid's sentiment.

Seniyad continued. "I will allow you to rethink your earlier decision and leave these men to their most deserved fate."

Arquen shot Aldeth a glare, one she had picked up from observing Xan that could intimidate people into full confession and reduce them to tears. The man scratched his ear awkwardly as he turned to Palin, who quickly plucked a bone necklace off a garden gnome statue and kicked it under a shrub. The bone necklace was identical to the ones worn by Seniyad and his companions. Next to him, Balquo tried to cover the merit badges sewn on his outfit but not before everyone saw the 'Druid Hunting' badge next to the badges for 'Fox Trap' and 'Fishing'.

"Do not listen to these slavering wild men, my dear friends," Aldeth said in a babbling voice. "They lie as befits the uncultured barbarians that they are."

Arquen decided to switch to her sarky voice. "Sorry, Aldeth, but we're siding with the druids. They have this great aloe vera balm they are giving away samples of, and my armor has been chafing a bit, ya know?"

"What?! Have you gone mad, throwing your lot in with a band of madmen?" Aldeth exclaimed, outraged. "You treacherous savages, you will suffer for your foolishness! I will deal with Seniyad after I kill you!"

But before Aldeth could even pull out his bastard sword, Jaheira cracked the man's skull with a brutal swing of her quarterstaff. He fell over and blood dyed his hair red. "Killing me … with an uncivilized weapon … you are a true savage …" the nobleman slurred just before he died.

Several yards away, Rasaad punched Balquo in his surgically-enhanced nose. Instinctively the man reached for his sword, then tossed it aside and reached into a pouch on the other side of his body to pull out anti-bacterial sanitizer lotion instead. "Don't touch me with your bare hands! I am allergic to poor people!" he screamed as he smeared the lotion all over his face, backing away from Rasaad's fists that were rough from a lifetime of punching people to death and performing domestic chores. Khalid joined in and plunged his long sword into Balquo's back until the blade emerged out of his front. The blonde man disinfected the hole in his torso before he died.

"I will _sue_ you for this blue-collar crime if you come any closer!" Palin aimed his arrow at Xan as the elf raised his hands. He released the arrow and it flew over the tiled roof instead with his appalling aim. Xan sighed and lowered his hands again. "Imoen! Arquen! Why don't you test out your new missile spells?" he said as he walked away.

Imoen and Arquen gleefully stepped in to cast acid and flame arrows at the man. "I'm warning you! No company will ever employ you!" Palin threatened as he resorted to wagging his finger at them. "Not even as an admin assistant!" Arquen shot her acid arrow into the man's mouth and melted his tongue, putting an end to him and presumably his tax accounting business.

"These city dwellers on the surface are … unintelligible," Viconia remarked as she regarded the three dead noblemen with a puzzled expression.

The druids smiled at their group. "I congratulate your wise decision. I wish you well for whichever endeavor you now embark," Seniyad told them. Then, seemingly able to read their minds, he continued, "If your presence in this wood involves those known as the Iron Throne, then I would suggest you head west, then north. Be careful in your journeys, for there are many foul beasts that have inhabited the wood. Another danger is a sect of shadow druids. Their order is a dangerous splinter group of the true druid order."

"Such sacrilege exists here?" Jaheira exclaimed with a frown, and implored Seniyad to tell her more about the shadow druids.

Although the druids were marginally more tolerable than the arrogant noblemen, Arquen decided to raid the cottage with Imoen instead.

* * *

><p>When Arquen and Imoen reemerged from the cottage after looting it for branded fire and poison arrows, imported elixirs and potions, a designer rainbow obsidian necklace and a stash of gold, Jaheira was still speaking with Seniyad and had befriended the druids. Khalid cringed by his wife's side as she spoke passionately about "maintaining the balance", occasionally thumping her chest along with the druids, clearly not realizing she was the only woman in the group.<p>

Rasaad had gone around the cottage, and returned to inform, "There is a river just behind the cottage, with a bridge that will take us northwest to where the druid said."

"I suppose we could go freshen up whilst the druids restore the balance," Arquen mumbled as she watched the druids wave their quarterstaffs about in the air.

Imoen and Viconia decided to follow her. The three women walked through the grove of trees beside the cottage. When they got to the back, indeed just a few yards behind the cottage was a narrow wooden bridge built over a calm river. Most likely built by the late Aldeth and company for easy access into the woodlands so as not to ruin their designer hunter outfits that were dry-clean only.

Arquen knelt by the stream to wash her face, welcoming the cold water against her skin. It was nearly past highsun now, and the altercation, though it required little physical activity other than raising her hands and flexing her fingers, she still felt exhausted from the encounter with the obnoxious city folk. If that was what wealthy 'adventurous' men were like in the city, thank gods people like Rasaad grew up in the slums and monastery!

After retying her ponytail, Arquen checked her reflection in the stream. The water was so clear that she could even see right down to the pebbles at the bottom where it was shallow, and the reflection of the trees behind her where the water ran deep. To her left, she could also see the reflections of Imoen and the hooded Viconia as they washed their faces and drank water from the cup of their hands. To her right, the narrow bridge casted its long rippling reflection across the stream.

There was also the rippling reflection of a figure with pointy ears and some kind of dark eye mask.

Arquen let out a small cry and leapt to her feet, pulling her short sword out as Imoen and Viconia also readied themselves for a confrontation.

The figure in question—which turned out to be an elf with the whole area around his eyes inked in dark green to give him a raccoon look—approached the women slowly with his hands up.

"Sorry if I startled you, but I always approach strangers cautiously," he said in a rather bold, lively voice. "I'm Coran, hunter and archer." He made a gesture with his hands to get them to lower her weapons. And flexed his tanned and toned arm muscles whilst he was at it.

Not sensing any hostility, Arquen slowly sheathed her short sword though she kept her eyes fixed on the elf for any sudden movements. Coran broke into a smile ... and she felt her face flushing at how good-looking the elf was, with a floppy brown fringe on one side of his face and long, just-got-out-of-bed hair on the other.

Very, very different from all the men she had met so far, and the total opposite of Rasaad's baldness!

Coran said next, "Are any of you interested in making some money? If you are, I'm the person who could help you do it."

_Make money?_ Arquen turned to Imoen, and both of them immediately bobbed their heads up and down eagerly. "Yes, tell us more."

"Good, I'm glad you're smart enough to recognize opportunity when it comes knocking," Coran said with a lazy grin. Again, unlike the men in their company, this elf had cheeky, roguish features. "The deal is this: I've been hired out by the mayor of Beregost to hunt down a great winged dragon that's been plaguing the caravan routes. He's offered two thousand gold for its head."

Coran held up his hand as she raised her brows, as Imoen gawked by her side, and as Viconia smiled delightfully at the mention of "a great winged dragon". "Now before you get cold feet, let me allay your fears. The only descriptions of the beast have always mentioned its deadly barbed tail. From what I know about dragons they don't have barbs on their tails—that's something unique to wyverns.

"So all we have to do is find this wyvern's nest and kill it. Our only worries are if it has friends over for dinner!" He smiled again at Arquen, that rogue smile she could never, ever imagine coming from Rasaad. Or Xan for that matter. His smile made her heart flutter with excitement and she was sure Imoen felt the same, judging by her sister's uncontrollable giggling behind a hand.

"So what is your decision, yea or nay?"

"Yea," Arquen said simply, smiling wide. Luckily Jaheira, Khalid, Xan and Rasaad weren't here to have a say in the decision!

"Very well then. We shouldn't tarry any longer; let's collect the heads of those soon-to-be-sorry wyverns," Coran said. "But first, who are these fine ladies I shall be associating myself with?"

"I'm Arquen!" She grinned and extended her hand for a handshake.

Coran reached for her hand but brought it to his lips instead. "A pleasure to meet you, my lady."

Arquen felt herself swooning. Nobody that charming had called her a "lady" before! Even after Coran brushed his lips against the back of her hand, he held on to it with both his hands, caressing her fingers lightly.

Imoen stepped forward and practically shoved her hand into Coran's mouth next. "And you can call me Imoen!"

"Pretty Imoen! What a lovely name," Coran declared, causing her sister to light up like a pink candle as he kissed her hand as well.

Then Coran turned to Viconia, who had remained hooded all this while.

Boldly, he went right up to her and peeked under her hood. "Now I can tell there is a fine figure under that cloak. May I uncover the mysterious beauty that is under the hood?"

Viconia removed her hood with a grin.

Instead of yelling out in fear or racial hatred, Coran let out a long whistle. As if intoxicated, he admired Viconia's alluring features, staring deep into her eyes and brazenly dipping his gaze as far down her neckline as her loosened cloak would allow.

"Oh my, I never thought I would lay my eyes upon such ravishing beauty in the wild!" he said at last, sounding almost breathless.

"You may lay your eyes for as long as you wish," the drow replied in a sultry voice, extending her hand for Coran to kiss slowly, and to caress even longer as he gazed enthralled at her dark allure.

As Coran assured them about how their group would find his archery and thieving skills useful for whatever they were trying to accomplish in Cloakwood, in return for their assistance with the wyverns, Arquen found herself exchanging grins with Imoen and Viconia.

Since she needed to get her mind off Rasaad, Coran would make the perfect distraction. And judging by how he was making Imoen giggle and flirting up a storm with Viconia, she was sure that all three of them couldn't wait to get to know this elf better!


	9. 9: Xan

Xan could describe Coran in so many ways.

'Licentious cradle-snatcher', for one. As he stood in the middle of the waist-deep stream, Coran set his lecherous eyes on _both_ Arquen and Imoen as they dipped their bare feet into the rushing water. "Fear not, my beauties, I shall lead you across this treacherous stream and beyond," the archer proclaimed gallantly as he stretched out his hand to them.

Nearby, Rasaad practically ran over the surface of the water in his creepy monk fashion and stood on the waterfall's ledge to survey their surroundings. As they journeyed west, the forest of Cloakwood led them to the edge of the coast, where cliffs and ridges overlooked the Sea of Swords. Wondrous sights of nature indeed, if not spoilt by the sleaziness of the rogue elf.

Imoen handed her boots and pack to Coran, who quickly whistled for Rasaad's attention so he could pass the items on to the monk, leaving his hands free to hold Imoen. Slowly, he aided her across the stream, at one point circling his hands around her waist.

How very sly. Xan watched in disgust from the riverbank.

Coran did the same with Arquen, this time wrapping an arm around the blonde half-elf's back. In the middle of the stream, amidst the sounds and torrent and metaphorical thrill of rushing water, he held her in an embrace. "The sea is a beautiful sight indeed," he purred to her, "but I would rather swim in your eyes." Arquen let out a schoolgirl giggle that only excited the archer more.

'Raccoon-faced male slut' would be another good description. The freak had even uglier tattoos than Rasaad. As Xan watched the monk ferry Arquen's boots and pack across the stream, he decided he much preferred the tattoos that consisted of curved lines with dots that looked as if a squid had slapped Rasaad on his face and neck with its tentacles, to Coran's stupid night mask.

Xan shook his head and sighed. Just because they learnt that Rasaad swung the other way, it wasn't an excuse for Arquen to throw herself at the sleazy elf! What kind of sorry excuse for affection did she have for the boy? She should have worked _harder_ at pursuing her prize and swinging Rasaad back to being straight. _This is what happens when you tell someone you trust them, _Xan fumed as he glared at Arquen playfully throwing a cold shower of water over Coran (though he imagined the archer needing it to rein in his excitement). He told Arquen he trusted her wisdom, with the intention of encouraging her to act with more maturity, and now look at what she had gone on to do!

Before Coran could move on to Viconia, Xan held out his hand to the drow standing beside him on the riverbank. "Come, Viconia, let me give you a hand."

"I thought you'd never ask!" Viconia responded cheerfully. She dumped her pack and boots into his arms, much to Xan's surprise. Before he could say anything, she quickly waded over to Coran and reached for his hand. "By Shar, this water is cold!" she exclaimed as she fell into his arms. Coran grinned from ear to ear, then swept Viconia up in his arms and carried her to the other side.

Xan couldn't help staring at them with his mouth open.

"A disgrace to elves!" he wanted to shout out the next description he had for Coran. An ambassador of elves and elven tradition, Coran was not. He was trying to seduce a half-elf, human _and_ drow. _At the same time!_ Wasn't Coran aware of the animosity between elves and drow?

_You hypocrite!_

The voice inside Xan's head yelled. Obviously he, fellow elf brethren, also liked Viconia, the same drow. But he was _nothing_ like Coran. He didn't spend the last three months spouting pick-up lines at Arquen (even though the half-elf could look very beautiful indeed when she sat still and silently) or Imoen (who could come across as 'cute' to men who fancied having their marital bed decorated with dolls and teddy bears). And he didn't like drow.

He liked HER—Viconia DeVir, whether she was drow or not.

He knew it wasn't just about how beautiful she looked and how her very presence could make his heart pound madly like a medical condition. No, it was that fierce determination to live even after her exile. Being proud of her heritage though surfacers treated her like the bogeyman because of it. That strong desire to find a home in spite of knowing she would never fully be accepted by any surface community. How she could even _dare_ to hope for a better life with the surface and underdark worlds _and_ the wrath of a goddess conspiring against her astounded him. Even more astounding was the fact that he, who drifted through life with a deep sense of despair, could keep that hope alive for her. Literally, he could keep her alive.

Indeed Viconia had appeared in his life out of nowhere, just suddenly running up to him in the middle of the forest, begging—_needing_ him to save her from certain death. If it had been him in the same situation, without the ability to fight back with his moonblade and spells, he would have simply knelt down on the ground and let the Flaming Fist mercenary behead him. Fate had brought them together that day. Viconia showed him how there was still a fighting chance to survive even if that meant putting your hope in the unlikeliest person.

Not only that, she compelled him to reexamine his view of justice. He had always thought that executing the law came above all else. But when he saw the Flaming Fist mercenary about to strike Viconia for the sole crime of being born drow, he couldn't imagine how justice could be fair. It was justice—this cold principle—that drove people away from him, because it had no heart. Justice needed, he realized, to exist with something else, another principle that wouldn't overlook wrongdoing and would aim for higher standards. He couldn't think of anything else other than …

_Love?_

"Male! Bring me my boots!" Viconia hollered at him and snapped Xan out of his thoughts. The drow was waiting with her arms crossed on the other side of the stream. Arquen and Imoen were now toweling themselves dry … as Coran watched the preternaturally youthful girls with a pervert grin on his face. Rasaad was nowhere in sight, which meant he had already gone to scout ahead.

As the Harpers were still searching the east bank for signs of shadow druids, that left Xan with the 'parental duties'. The enchanter shook his head and exhaled audibly before he stepped into the stream.

Oh, Corellon! The water _was_ cold! And rushing towards the perilous ledge. Suddenly the rumbling sound of the waterfall was deafening. Finding his footing on the bed of uneven, slippery rocks seemed impossible. He struggled trying to maintain his balance with two backpacks weighing him down. Carrying Viconia's things in his arms meant he couldn't hold onto any rocks. Oh gods! Certainly a sudden torrent of water was going to sweep him away and throw him down the waterfall!

He looked up and saw Viconia in front of him, standing on the riverbank waiting, and watching him with interest. He had better _not_ let her down and embarrass himself. Xan wiped his damp face with his arm and pressed forward.

Xan _almost_ made it when his long robes snagged on a sharp rock underwater and he tumbled forwards. Instinctively he threw Viconia's boots and pack as far and as high as he possibly could before he went underwater. The icy water felt like a slap to his face and he scratched his palms on the stones and rocks at the bottom of the stream trying to steady himself. When he resurfaced, he sneezed water out of his nose.

"You saved my boots!" Xan saw the drow exclaiming happily as Coran presented the precious boots to her dry and unspoilt. OF COURSE Coran had swept in just in time to catch everything before they fell into the stream … making him Viconia's hero of the day.

Xan crawled onto the bank, wet and miserable. Viconia regarded him only to scold, "Clumsy fool! You almost ruined my things!" She put her boots back on and with a huff, stormed off to join Arquen and Imoen in surrounding Coran like a groupie. Xan turned to see the archer stroking the limb of his longbow as he entertained the girls with a sickening innuendo on "the length of my weapon."

The afternoon was _not_ going well at all!

After throwing his wet pack on the ground, Xan took off his robes (he noticed that none of the women turned to look, not even out of concern, which caused him to sigh dejectedly). It looked like he would have to march the rest of the day in his tunic. He squeezed out the water his robes had soaked up like sponge, and was picking a small fish out of a pocket when Rasaad returned from his scouting.

The monk gave Xan a once-over but wisely decided not to comment when Xan shot him a don't-you-dare-ask glare. Instead he informed the group, "Traps lay to the west as well as giant spiders."

"Did you say 'spiders'?"

Viconia perked up at the news. Her lithe figure skipped over to the trees. "How far within?" she turned and asked Rasaad with a keen voice.

"Er, not very far. There is a web about twenty feet high."

Viconia smiled at the information and disappeared behind the trees. Xan stopped whatever he was doing and stared after Viconia with deep worry. It was general knowledge that drow adored spiders, but Xan had thought that after renouncing her worship of Lolth, she would be less inclined to have close contact with what could potentially be one of The Spider Queen's servants.

Viconia had only been gone for a couple of minutes when she returned from the forest with her prize catch in her hands.

It was a spider the size of a melon, with furry, wriggling legs and a body covered in an emerald sheen.

Xan trembled inside. _Corellon have mercy …_

Viconia stroked the restless arachnid like a puppy until it calmed down. It wrapped its eight legs affectionately around her arms.

"This, surface dwellers, is the most magnificent creature known to drow," Viconia mused as she cradled the spider like a doll. She strolled over to the girls to show off the creature. With no sense of fear or reason, Arquen and Imoen started cooing over the spider like a new pet.

Xan exchanged a troubled look with Rasaad. Aside from being on his guard—with the Sharran presenting him with yet another death option, he had better be—the monk also shared the same thought: _What is wrong with women nowadays?! Aren't they supposed to run off screaming? When did the term 'creepy crawlies' lose its meaning?!_

Talk about failed parenting! Where were the guardians at a time like this?! Xan frowned and looked around for Khalid and the no-nonsense Jaheira. The Harpers were still nowhere in sight. How could they allow their own preoccupations with shadow druids result in neglecting the girls until they had been lured by a pervert and started playing with poisonous animals? Xan had hoped to see Jaheira twist Arquen's ears until they became pointier than usual two days ago. Their leader deserved nothing less for recruiting the stranger into their band to follow them to a secret mine, in a place like Cloakwood where danger loomed behind every bush. But the druid had been more bothered by the news on the shadow druids instead. She had only given Coran a mere glare and roll of her eyes. "Before this you had a bloodthirsty ranger and a drow. This elf is practically harmless," she even remarked.

As the women fawned over the spider and patted its emerald body, Xan noticed that Coran was actually keeping away, appearing to tend to his longbow. Aha! He figured that the spider had something to do with it.

This was his chance to redeem himself from falling into the stream earlier and prove he was worthier than the other elf!

Xan took a deep breath, braced himself, and marched up to Viconia. Arquen and Imoen stepped aside to let Xan have his turn at playing with the spider, but Viconia appeared too besotted with the creature to notice him beside her. To get her attention, and approval, he placed his hand carefully over hers so it _looked_ like he wanted to touch the spider, and he also got to stroke the back of her hand at the same time.

Viconia turned towards him with a smile that made him do a somersault inside his stomach. "I am most impressed. Of everyone, I expected you to be the person to recoil from spiders," Viconia teased, holding the venomous creature between them as if it were their offspring.

"Are you not afraid of Lolth's wrath?" Xan asked her, surprising himself that he managed to speak without stammering.

Viconia's expression changed slightly. "I ... am aware Lolth is vengeful, and I must be wary of her servants revealing my presence at all times. This creature drew my attention because of its resemblance to a pet I kept in my youth." A tender side of the drow unveiled its face momentarily. She scratched the spider's spiky head as she smiled to herself at some fond childhood memory.

Then the hardened mask returned and Viconia's smile transformed back into her mocking sneer. She thrust the spider into Xan's arms. "Here Xan, I will let you return it to its home while it is still calm under my handling."

_Seldarine help me!_

It took every fiber in his body and boyish determination to impress Viconia, to refrain from screaming in falsetto. He looked down at the spider tickling his chest with its hairy legs. It peered back at him with eight beaded eyes.

So unnerving it wasn't funny!

"Of course I can do that!" Xan proclaimed with macho bravado and turned away from Viconia just as his arms started to shake with uncontrollable fear. He marched as quickly as possible towards the forest, praying that his jellied legs wouldn't buckle under him. The moment he reached the nearest tree, he pushed the spider away from him.

Only to find that it had wrapped two pairs of legs around his body in an embrace and its other four legs were now reaching for his face.

"Get away from me!" Xan pleaded at the creature, and tried to shake its grip loose as he would with a clingy infant.

Oh uh. Wrong move. The spider took offense and bared its fangs menacingly with a hissing sound.

The last thing Xan recalled was him looking down at the spider sinking its fangs into his chest before a sudden icy chill shot through his body and unconsciousness took over.

* * *

><p>"How vicious were the spider's fangs. Look, I can poke my finger into the holes in his chest!"<p>

"Xan has nice kissable lips, don't you think so?"

Distorted voices and faces above him.

"Uh, his lips look blue."

"Rasaad, maybe you need to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation."

Xan's eyes flashed open at that terrifying suggestion.

Hovering above him were the inquisitive faces of Arquen and Rasaad like a horrible déjà vu of Peldvale. Except when he gazed up at the sky this time around, a vulture was also flying about in circles above him.

Arquen grinned. "Alright, you can manage on your own now. Maybe feed Xan breakfast in bed. I hope you slept well together!" Arquen said cheerfully, to Xan's annoyance. The minx was still trying to set him up with Rasaad even though he had just been poisoned! Even after he had threatened to fry her brains with a Mindrape spell if she tried to do so!

The half-elf skipped off and left him at the mercy of The Creepy One, who was running his hands over his bare torso as he wrapped a gauze around his chest.

"WHAT did Arquen mean by 'you slept well together'?" Xan demanded as he pushed himself up on his elbows. A shot of pain hit him in the chest.

Rasaad placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. "I had to stay with you," he explained. "Sometimes you would go into a fever. Also I had to keep changing your bandages. We have neutralized the poison but the wound wouldn't stop—" (the monk swallowed a retch) "—leaking pus. I did not sleep much but I hope you have healed."

"Are you saying you laid here watching me the entire night?"

"For the most part."

"Do you realize how creepy that sounds?"

"Er..." Even when tired, Rasaad managed to look dumb as he tried to figure out what Xan was trying to say, and couldn't. Of all the people in their group, why oh why must the monk always be the one he had to wake up next to (THAT SOUNDED SO WRONG!). He watched the monk clean his hands and a small knife, then started peeling small apples over a bowl.

"Rasaad," Xan sighed, "if I ever fall unconscious again, kindly leave me to suffer alone during the night. I would rather die than wake up next to you again."

Rasaad rubbed a tired eye but kept his attention on the apples. "I am sorry, Xan," he said quietly. "The Harpers told the rest of us to keep watch over you. Coran had an early reverie, then volunteered for the night watch. Imoen felt bored after counting to fifty. Viconia said you deserved to be poisoned to death for mishandling that 'beautiful spider'. Arquen helped with moving our things over here, but she told me it was best to stay with you alone …

"I promise this will not happen again. This is not the first time you expressed your displeasure over my presence. My apologies again for being where I am not wanted." Rasaad set the bowl down hard between them with a clatter. He gathered his pack, bedroll and cloak into a bundle in his hands quickly and went away.

Left on his own, Xan looked at the bowl of apples with a sigh. Were his words considered harsh? Rasaad did have awfully bloodshot eyes that morning, which meant he wasn't lying about barely having any sleep. But ... XAN WAS NOT GOING TO LEAD RASAAD ON. The monk really needed to get the message that there was no way in the nine hells they would ever be anything more than allies. Since when did he become so sensitive anyway? This was the first time he reacted like a drama king to a well meaning comment, as if Xan had hurt his 'feelings'.

Xan put on his robes, noticing that Rasaad must've properly washed and dried them because all he did himself was remove the fish from his pocket. Then he ate the apples quickly, again feeling guilty when he saw how the fruits had been peeled, deseeded, cut into slices and arranged neatly inside the bowl with a toothpick for him.

Next, as he tied his bedroll to his pack, he noticed that Rasaad had also dried and tidied all his things, including tucking spell scrolls properly inside the scroll case instead of leaving them stuffed all over the pack as crumpled balls of parchment, and suffered another guilt trip. When he was done feeling like an ingrate, he left his secluded spot to look around for the others. It appeared they had stayed the night atop the cliff, and he found Jaheira and Khalid busy cleaning up the campsite.

He greeted the Harpers and enquired about the whereabouts of everyone. "Good to see you have recovered, Xan. They have gone for a walk to the cape. It has a nice view of the s-sea," Khalid told him, looking up from the ashen firepit to point to the south. Xan squinted at the faraway distance where the end of a narrow cape stretched out to the clear blue sea. He could make out four figures, which told him they were Coran and his groupies.

He couldn't help saying to Jaheira, "As guardians of Gorion's ward and her foster sister, are you not concerned that there is an elf of questionable morals in our midst trying to seduce both the young girls? While you were away, Arquen and Imoen were also playing with poisonous spiders."

The druid paused in her task of scattering wood ash around to fertilize the plants and looked at him sternly. "This elf you speak of—are you referring to yourself, Xan?"

"What?! No!"

"The girls are old enough to have lovers," Jaheira told him sharply. "Their romantic relationships are the least of my worries at this point of time. You do realize, especially as a Greycloak, that there are graver matters presently at hand, don't you? As for yesterday's events, from what the others say, _you_ were the only untrained person who wanted to handle the spider on his own."

From feeling like an ungrateful bastard, Xan went to feeling like a senior citizen who had nothing better to do than gossip about others and pass out from doing silly things to himself. He excused himself quickly, and made the short walk across the cape.

Once again, he found Coran surrounded by three demurely giggling women. This morning, the archer stood at the tip of the cape on top of a rock, with his arms outstretched, and shouted, "I'm the king of the world!" It was so corny that it took all of Xan's willpower not to charge forward and shove Coran off the cliff. Instead he had to settle for fantasies about the archer falling towards the sea, breaking several bones in his body against the many rocks that jutted out from the cliff as he fell, before drowning due to not being to swim with legs bent the wrong way.

When he reached the group, Viconia greeting him with a contemptuous snort. "Fortunately for you, it was a dwarfed spider," she remarked, seeing him clutch at his chest wound. "The pain may last a few hours yet to remind you of your disrespect of nature's most perfect creatures." She turned away and flicked her hair at him, marching back to their campsite before he could even say anything.

Xan seriously considered for a moment that he should also jump on top of a rock and shout. Or make Viconia stand in front of him, spread her arms with his hands, let the sea wind blow her hair back and tell her, "We are flying!" He watched her leave in dismay.

_"You have offended the dark beauty with your actions yesterday, my friend_," Coran appeared next to him and duly informed in Elvish. _"Though her threats on punishment with whips excites me."_ He closed his eyes and grinned to himself for a moment, no doubt imagining lewd dalliances inside his head. Then he clapped a hand on Xan's back before bouncing over to Arquen and Imoen to walk arm in arm with both of them.

As Xan walked behind the group, by himself, with only the sounds of waves crashing against the land on either side of him as company, he felt especially hopeless that morning.

* * *

><p>"We are still in the domain of the ettercaps," Rasaad informed as he returned from scouting up north, peeling web threads from his body. He gestured over to the trees ahead of them. "There is yet another snare ahead, that stretches across two trees."<p>

"Not a problem for Arquen and me," Coran replied chirpily, taking out a small knife. He bounced ahead and set to work cutting the edges of a sheet of sticky webbing that weaved around one tree as Arquen worked on the edges at the second tree. Twice he glanced sideways to exchange grins with the half-elf, effectively disarming the trap without even needing to look at it. As Xan stayed behind with the Harpers, Imoen and Viconia to watch the nimble-fingered duo at work, he wondered why Rasaad and monks in general could so cleverly detect traps, even complex magical ones on treasure chests and doors, yet have no ability whatsoever to disarm them. He recalled how Rasaad once found a mousetrap inside an inn before, and somehow couldn't figure out how to pull back the bar to disable the trip, instead ending up with six swollen fingers and a broken pinkie from triggering it.

The only thing that didn't make Rasaad's scouting skills fall completely short was the monk's stealth. Coran, on the other hand, had absolutely no concept of subtlety, just like his flashy gold earrings, leather bandana, gaudy purple outfit (Xan's outfit was purple too but his mage robes were _elegant purple. _There was a difference) and shameless womanizing. In the middle of the ettercap-infested forest, the archer decided to whistle an upbeat tune while he disarmed the trap.

"Coran! Cease that whistling at once! You are drawing attention to us!" Jaheira barked and appeared to be giving Khalid a signal to do something painful to Coran when a net made of web flew over their group. It almost snared the Harpers like wild animals if Rasaad hadn't incinerated it in mid-air first with his Sun Soulray and lightning-quick reflexes. "Prepare yourselves! Three ettercaps approach!" Rasaad hissed as flames spread from his palms to his elbows and he started pacing the wall of web.

"Ettercaps may possess similar talents to spiders but I find them to be an abomination of the elegant creatures," Viconia remarked as she pulled out her mace. Beside her Imoen tucked her fingers into her spell component pouch, prepared to cast a spell as soon as the ettercaps came into sight. Xan drew his moonblade and ran through some spells in his head. Causing some fear in the ettercaps and making them run and climb around in a panic might help reveal more traps made of web to them, he figured.

High-pitched chittering noises became louder and closer. Coran and Arquen ceased their cutting work. The archer grabbed his longbow, which he had placed on the ground next to him and stood up. Swiftly and expertly, he let loose a few arrows that hit two ettercaps with deadly accuracy between their beady eyes.

Next, for dramatic effect, he tossed his hair back, grinned at Arquen with glinting teeth, then shot his arrow at an eighty-degree angle so that it would zip high into the sky first before diving back down to impale itself into the top of the third ettercap's head.

In less than a minute, all three creatures had fallen over dead.

"That was … wow …" Imoen exclaimed in awe and even Viconia gaped at the archer's handiwork. Although he would never _ever_ admit it, Xan too was impressed with Coran's skill, which actually outmatched Kivan's.

"Let us get back to work, sweetheart." Coran winked at Arquen and knelt down again to finish slicing away the web ropes.

"You might as well let Coran and 'Sweetheart' be at the front, Rasaad. Unlike yourself, they can detect _and_ disarm traps. Let Coran's bow take down our enemies," Xan suggested to Rasaad as he sheathed his moonblade. The monk responded by turning away from him without a word, backtracking their trail.

The rest of them let Coran and Arquen finish clearing the traps, after which Coran led the looting. For spidery beasts that lived in the wilderness, the ettercaps seemed weirdly drawn to valuable items—two of them wore neck pouches that contained gemstones and gold. The third even held an Infravision scroll in its claws, which Coran plucked out and passed to Xan.

"Forty-three gold pieces altogether," Coran said after he counted all the gold coins. He deposited them into the pouch that Imoen held out like an offertory bag. Dusting his hands, the archer quipped, "Shall we proceed?"

After marching a short distance, Xan realized that Rasaad wasn't guarding the rear and was actually missing.

"Wait! Rasaad is not here!" Xan called out, stopping the march. Since he noted the direction Rasaad had gone, he decided to go find the monk. He headed past the dead ettercaps and web strewn grounds, then in the same direction the monk had gone. As Xan stepped off the trail, he hoped he didn't have to go too far.

It turned out the monk hadn't ventured very far at all, and he also wasn't scouting the area. Xan spotted him sitting in front of a large tree, facing away. At first Xan thought he might be meditating, but no, Rasaad had his arms folded around his knees with his head buried in them.

Of all people, Xan would recognize that classic depressed pose anywhere.

This was the second time today that the monk was acting overly emotional, and for the life of him Xan couldn't figure out why. Quickly, the enchanter returned to the others and went to Khalid. He pulled the warrior away from the group and made sure his fierce wife was out of earshot before he spoke. For some chauvinistic reason, he believed this required a man-to-man pep talk, not nagging.

"Rasaad appears to be upset. Could you go console him?"

Khalid gave him a questioning look. "What could Rasaad be upset over?"

Xan sighed but looked away guiltily. "I do not know for sure, though I _may_ have been a bit harsh with my words. He has been noticeably emotional as of late. It could well be him reaching human adolescence."

"If you have wronged him, sh-shouldn't you be the one to apologize to him and placate him?"

"I don't want to!" He did _not_ want to risk creating any wrong impression.

It was Khalid's turn to sigh as the half-elf put his shield and pack down. He followed Xan to where Rasaad had gone. Although the half-elf had not seen two centuries pass, he had always assumed a sort of paternal role in their group. A strong fighter, exhibiting maturity, and above all, _incredibly_ patient (he had managed to stay married to Jaheira, after all), only Khalid could handle the wayward members of their group without a serrated-edged cane.

Together they approached the moping monk, who lifted his head from his arms at the sound of their footsteps but didn't get up. Xan stopped a few feet away, letting Khalid go ahead of him. Khalid sat next to Rasaad on the ground and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"What is wrong, Rasaad?" he asked in a gentle voice.

The monk didn't respond. Khalid caught Xan's gaze and said in Elvish, _"Perhaps it would help if you apologized?"_

Xan folded his arms and chewed his lips stubbornly.

"Are you upset with Xan?" Khalid turned back to Rasaad and asked.

Finally, Rasaad let out a deep sigh. "I do feel terrible for offending Xan yet again," he said quietly. Khalid frowned in suspicion, as if he couldn't believe that Rasaad would be the guilty party in any offence, _especially_ if it involved Xan.

"But there is something else," Rasaad continued, and Xan raised his eyebrows curiously. "Selune forgive me for my foolishness, but my heart has been troubled since Coran joined our group."

Now this was unexpected.

"His archery skills shall lend great aid to our group, of that I have no doubt, but I am very uncomfortable with his … questionable affections for the women. Although none of them are spoken for, he ought still to be treating them more … honorably."

Xan felt he MUST ask the burning question in his head. "Uh, Rasaad, does this mean you are not gay?"

"Certainly not today."

Argh! Xan reached forward and shook the boy by his shoulder until he looked up at him. Xan peered intensely into the monk's brown eyes and spoke slowly and as clearly as he could.

"Rasaad, if you ever, in this lifetime, happen to have CONSENSUAL SEX with a HUMANOID, one that is not lifeless, that you or someone did not pay for, would you desire the person to be FEMALE, or MALE?"

The scandalized look that flashed across Rasaad's face said it all. "Female, of course!" the monk gasped. "A woman who possesses true inner strength! Who shows kindness and mercy to others! Who has pure goodness in her heart!"

Xan felt a tremendous sense of relief at the knowledge that he had not been molested or looked upon inappropriately by the monk at bathhouses. But gods! Did Viconia have the most twisted sense of humor or what! He had been living in fear of the monk for the last four days, occasionally suffering from flashes of traumatic memories that made him clutch his head to prevent him from screaming out. Quenching the light of the moon and Selunites could be done in so many other ways—why did she have to deceive them into believing that Rasaad was gay!

As for Rasaad's reaction to Coran's behavior, he asked next, "Out of curiosity, Rasaad … is there someone you are interested in romantically?"

The monk shook his head, to both Xan and Khalid's surprise.

"Do you not find anyone attractive, at all?" Xan probed further.

"One should never to place emphasis on the appeal of physical and superficial traits," Rasaad said in his sagelike voice. "Although … I admit I would find myself drawn to a woman with elfish features, with hair the color of the sun, who spins humorous tales to lift the downcast spirit and whose smile lights up her face in the darkness."

"Rasaad …" Xan rubbed his temples to stop the annoying pain. "Am I right to say you sound like you desire someone who _looks_ _like Arquen_, tells tasteless jokes _like Arquen_, and owns glow-in-the-dark vampire fangs from the toy store _just like Arquen?_"

"Yes, I suppose you are right."

"And you believe you have not yet met this person?"

"No, I have not."

Xan exchanged a look of utmost pity with Khalid. _"He still hasn't realized his attraction to Gorion's ward? Shall we enlighten him?"_ Khalid said in Elvish.

_"__Let it be. You do not want to rush enlightenment,"_ Xan replied. Mentally he noted that the bet he had placed with Imoen was now valid again, and summer would pass soon, which meant the stakes would double in value. Then he turned back to Rasaad. "Now that we have established that blonde half-elves appeal to you, and you only like men in a purely platonic way, there are some things you really should not be doing, especially if it involves edible cream."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

Xan decided to let Khalid do the parenting job. "Khalid, you have the most experience when it comes to relationships (in the sense that you are married—this is no way an admission to my lack of experience thereof). Kindly explain to Rasaad why the girls wanted to watch him put a whole carrot in his mouth."

As Xan walked away, he heard Khalid explain in a fatherly voice, "When a man gets t-together with a woman, and when a man gets t-together with another man…."

He was quite a distance away when he heard screaming. Birds flew from the trees, rabbits fled into burrows and crickets scuttled away in panic. Xan realized in all their travels he had never heard—and previously could not have imagined the volume or countertenor pitch—Rasaad scream before.

"I DIDN'T KNOW THAT WAS THE PLACE WHERE THE LIGHT DOESN'T SHINE!"

* * *

><p>They marched in the direction of northwest the entire day, following a river upstream that never seemed to end. Finally Jaheira decided to stop when Imoen dropped her pack and fell to the ground, crying dramatically, "I can't take it anymore! The monotonous scenery—it's too boring!" After setting up the campsite for the evening, the men headed downstream to wash.<p>

As the cold water flowed gently around his body, Xan leaned his back against a smooth rock and closed his eyes. His legs ached. His stomach grumbled. He had burnt eight hundred calories. Only the numbing pain from the wound on his chest had finally subsided.

How deep into the wilderness did they need to venture? He glanced over at Khalid further down the river. The warrior was washing blue spider blood out of his red hair, having received a shower of blood and gore when a giant spider leapt on him and he stuck his long sword into it. Cloakwood occupied such a large area on the map and he was convinced that ettercaps and spiders were probably the least dangerous predators they would face. Wyverns were on the list, of course, no thanks to Coran. Dread filled his mind as he wondered what other foul creatures awaited them.

_"Guess who is getting lucky tonight?"_

The loud, grating voice of Coran announced in Elvish beside him. The archer gave Xan a grin just before he submerged his head into the river.

_"What are you talking about?" _Xan asked when the archer resurfaced.

_"The half-elf wants me to ravage her virginity this very eve!"_ Coran boasted as he cleaned behind his ears and neck, preparing those areas to be examined closely.

Seldarine help them! He didn't know who was worse in this situation—Arquen or Coran. But Coran had played this game a thousand times before, he figured. Possibly more, with elven lifespan. _"Are you aware that the half-elf has little experience of life on the road? Not to mention she just witnessed the murder of her foster father not so long ago. Losing her virginity is likely just another coping mechanism. Have you no principles at all, Coran?" _

_"Nearly none, my friend. I operate more by luck than judgment," _Coran laughed heartily. _"So happens my luck comes in the form of a lady tonight!"_

_Buck be a baby,_ Xan thought but decided not to say. _"By the way, surely you must know of Arquen's intimate connection with the human, even if they have yet to consummate their relationship,"_ Xan remarked, gesturing at Rasaad bathing closer to the shore.

Coran glanced over at the monk, whose sculpted body glistened with water. When Rasaad stood with his hands cupped, the evening sun illuminated his form and made him appear just like a god. Scenes such as this had always stirred Xan to seriously consider the trading of a few brain cells in return for such brawn. Then as Rasaad climbed out of the river in his full glory, Xan bet Coran had this thought: _This is a no-win battle. Surrender now._

_"Blondie is more shallow-minded than I thought,"_ Coran remarked, tipping his head down and up twice to follow his gaze. _"Hope she doesn't mind the jaw cramps. Maybe I should ask her again if she is sure about doing it in the meadow tonight. I don't want the monk knocking my teeth out!"_

_"Knocking teeth out is nothing. You should see him crack skulls like egg shells with his hands," _Xan said wickedly, delighting at the fearful look on Coran's face. He finished his bath and hurried back to the campsite.

_If I wasn't here to stop that girl selling her virginity to the first bidder … I swear, if I wasn't here … _Xan silently fumed as he went to accost Arquen before she went to catch clams and crabs from the archer.

The half-elf was combing her damp hair by the campfire, and quirked her brows at Xan when he sat down next to her. "Is something wrong?" She looked around as if worried her favorite elf had gone and Xan was the last man alive on Toril.

"You may be interested to know that Rasaad expressed he only likes women, and he also told me the exact type of women he finds attractive," Xan told her.

Her face lit up as if a shooting star just granted her wish. She gripped his arm and looked hungrily into his eyes. "What is his ideal woman? Xan tell me tell me tell me!"

_You, gnat brain,_ would make it too easy. "Rasaad likes someone who is kind, merciful and good at heart," he said instead. Hopefully that would come across as thought-provoking.

"Hurray for that! My alignment is neutral good!"

It appeared he would have to elaborate further. "His ideal woman is someone who acts with feminine grace. She doesn't talk with her mouth full of food. She reads philosophy and finds romance novels frivolous. He admires monogamous maturity and has little respect for tramps who go about throwing themselves at random men."

A worried look fell over Arquen's face. "What kind of impression do you think I am giving him by flirting with Coran?" she asked.

Xan gave her his fake dumbfounded stare. "_Ohh_ … I thought Coran is _special_ to you. Someone who takes everything at face value like Rasaad probably believes you have plans to elope with the man, only to be abandoned and live the rest of your days eating pork scratchings and growing fat in a tavern, waiting for the day he returns for you. He never will of course."

Now the blonde was horrified. She looked around for Rasaad, and saw him meditating on the other side of the campfire. Sensing her gaze, the monk opened his eyes to give her a smile.

Just then Coran planted himself on the ground beside Arquen and placed his hand on her thigh. "My, don't you look lovely this evening," the archer drawled in his lascivious manner, seemingly getting turned on by the half-elf's shiny hair and sniffing the air for traces of her shampoo. The smile on Rasaad's face disappeared. Xan decided he might as well fan the flames and said loudly, "It appears the two of you really like each other!"

He swore he could hear the sound of Rasaad's heart breaking. The monk abandoned his meditations and left the campsite altogether. The third time today he ran off as if to cry.

Arquen shot Xan a dirty look that told him how he was going arise from reverie with his eyelids sewn together. Then she slapped Coran's hand away from her thigh, surprising the archer with her rejection. He stared open-mouthed as she ran off after the monk.

The couple reappeared not long after, Arquen hugging Rasaad's arm so tightly it reminded Xan of the clingy poisonous spider. "Whenever I cook potatoes, they're _always_ crunchy! Or I could skewer some squirrels! I just want to cook something special for you!" the half-elf was saying eagerly.

"That is very generous of you, but, er, I think it may be wiser if I taught you how to boil the potatoes first," Rasaad replied in his usual awkward manner whenever he got cornered by the women. Then he broke into a bright smile as he gazed into the half-elf's eyes, still oblivious as to why he experienced strange but pleasant feelings around her.

Although his face couldn't well project it, Xan smiled inside over his good deed of the day. He watched Arquen cling to Rasaad's shirt affectionately as the monk unpacked their cooking utensils, at times pulling the collar over his shoulder to flash some tattooed skin. To have a semblance of the way things used to be, Xan just had to return himself to Viconia's good graces.

The drow had her own spot near the far end of the campsite, and was currently tending to her pack. Without her hood up, her pale hair flowed around her shoulders and shimmered under the evening light. Xan sighed at her loveliness. The next time they got to spend some time together in private again, he would love to have a feel of what it would be like to comb his fingers through her beautiful hair. He got to his feet and started making his way over.

Coran beat him to it.

The archer plopped himself beside Viconia. After stroking her hair, the archer ran a finger down the drow's arm and purred, just loud enough for Xan to hear, "It is said that drow and elf relations are unheard of. But I _love_ the taste of forbidden fruit, don't you?" He stood up again and slipped between the trees, his whistling trailing behind him.

Viconia got to her feet and started to follow the archer.

SHE WOULDN'T?! He could not believe it! Xan practically ripped away a handful of foliage as he ran over and grabbed Viconia by the arm. "Where do you think you're going?!" he couldn't help demanding.

Viconia grinned back at him in the most disturbing way. "Have you been eavesdropping, Xan? What do you think? I have never tasted an elf before and I am curious."

"Stop speaking like that! Have you no consideration for … for me?"

The drow's eyes danced with amusement. "What am I to consider of you, Xan?"

_You and me, Viconia! What about US? _The events over the past few days swirled inside his head as he stared into her violet eyes. True, he hadn't actually admitted his feelings for Viconia or anything. But, surely those times they kissed … and all those times they spent in each other's company ... surely they must mean something?

A sickening feeling of horror grew inside of him, much as he tried to stop it. It gripped at his chest and throat. "I–I thought you and–and I," he stammered. "You must know how I feel about you!"

"You amuse me, Xan. We exchanged a couple of childish kisses and you think you have won my affections?"

He resorted to begging pathetically. "Please, Viconia, you do not have to debase yourself with a lecher who doesn't really care about you!" He reached for her hand. If he could just get her to come away with him again, he'd tell her how he felt about her and how much he cared….

Viconia snatched her hand away. "A drow gratifies herself when she wishes to do so. Nobody demeans me or dictates what I should do!" The cold look she gave him … It could not mask the decadence and cruelty of her race. All those signs he had chosen to ignore because he foolishly thought she could be different. He had also fooled himself into thinking that _he_ could be special to her.

The world caved in on him as Viconia left to be with another. He had felt glimpses of this pain in others, this stabbing feeling in the chest, when he tapped into their memories of grief, lost, and rejection. Never did he imagine he would one day feel the pain coming from his own self. And try as he might, he couldn't switch off the pain like snuffing out a candle.

He had _failed_. No way could he be trusted with the mission for having allowed his duties to be sidetracked. What could he offer Arquen and the others if he couldn't fulfill his role in the dangerous battles they would undoubtedly face? An enchanter had failed to control his own emotions.

No, he had no right to be here. Xan stumbled back into the campsite, where Arquen and Rasaad were busy preparing dinner together, too preoccupied with each other's company to notice him gathering up his pack. Who was he to mock their ignorant youth, when he had made the most unsound judgment for himself. As for Imoen, the most promising mage he had ever tutored, she was too far a distance away with the Harpers to even see him leave.

Xan moved through the wilderness blindly, brushing past damp foliage that stained his robes and scratched his skin. The forest was heavy, the trees thick with a cobweb of roots on the ground. As night descended, he tried to find a clear path that could guide him back home, or wherever it was he could return to, to undo all this memory and madness, to find a sense of purpose again. But nothing appeared to guide him in this place, and the overwhelming darkness told him how it was all futile.


	10. 10: Viconia

Coran's whistling stopped when Viconia arrived at the secluded forest site that night. Her drow eyes searched between the line of trees that surrounded the site of moss-covered rocks, trying to spot the mischievous elf in the shadows.

It was obvious he was lurking about somewhere, watching her. She hoped he would appear soon enough and show her the feats he had been boasting about. If the archer wanted to play games with her, he had better ensure mind-shattering pleasures at the end of it!

"Do you like the thrill of hunting?" she heard a rough voice say from behind her.

Before she could turn around, Coran grabbed her from behind. A hand pressed over her midriff and another twined in her long pale hair, jerking it aside roughly to bare her neck to him. Viconia felt his hot, eager breath before he ran his lips over the nape of her neck.

_Mmm._ It had been months since her last dalliance. When they first met, from that moment Coran's eager eyes burned into hers, she knew they would end up having sex, elf and drow differences irrelevant. Both of them were creatures of lust, taking pleasure where they could find them without any romantic notion. The way it should be, she believed, whether in the Underdark or on the surface.

She let Coran trace the back of her ear with his tongue before she spun around swiftly and slammed him back against a rock.

The elf let out a winded cry. It sounded somewhat comical to her since it was such a tame version of what she was accustomed to with pleasure slaves. But he recomposed himself the second she tugged at his shirt, nearly ripping them off. To respond to her eagerness, his hands gingerly ran over the soft mounts of her breasts.

Off came Coran's shirt and Viconia took her turn at running her hands over his bare chest. His body was lean and hot and screaming for her touch. She clawed at his skin with her fingernails instead, making him hiss excitedly. She trailed his torso downwards with her fingertips and stopped at his belt. Slipping her fingers into the top of his trousers, she pulled him close and leaned backwards on a low rock, where fallen leaves from the canopy had layered the large stone with a soft, inviting surface.

"I'm going to ravish your flesh," the elf said as he climbed over her and moved his hand down. He stroked the tender flesh on her thigh, sending feelings of excitement upwards and between her legs. Viconia gave the archer a hard look to tell him that she expected him to deliver on what he just promised as he pressed himself against her as a grand hint of his yearnings. Then, he moved his hand back up her body to undo the corset laces at the front of her leather outfit.

Unfortunately not as expertly as she expected him to be. Somehow in the midst of loosening the laces, he managed to create a stubborn knot. He stopped caressing her momentarily and tugged at the laces. When she frowned at him impatiently, Coran quickly rose to meet her face.

"Before I explore your exotic form," he said by way of distracting her, grinning impishly, "let me have a taste of your sweet lips." He leaned in to kiss her.

Viconia closed her eyes in anticipation of Coran's kiss. Already she had plans to tease him with wicked ideas by flicking her tongue around his. When his mouth came down hard over hers, he let out a lusty growl.

And Viconia thought of Xan kissing her goodnight at the doorway at The Jovial Juggler.

Her eyes shot open and she gaped at the elf with the raccoon-eye tattoos. Suddenly a voice screamed in her head, telling her that she shouldn't be here. Why in the world was she making out with _this_ elf?!

Abruptly, Viconia placed her hands on Coran's shoulders and gave him a hard push to get him off her.

The push broke their kiss and made Coran stagger to one side of her. Coran was startled for a moment before he propped himself up on one hand. He wiped his mouth with the back of his other hand, then leaned in again to nibble at her neck and fondle her breast.

_Xan ..._ Again Viconia thought about Xan and the gentle way he had wrapped his arms around her body. That soft kiss of his that lingered on her mouth long after their lips have parted. The tender look in his deep blue eyes that told her without words how she could depend on him to keep her safe on the surface, whatever happens.

No way could she be intimate with someone else right now. She shoved Coran away roughly this time and sat bolt upright. The elf jerked backwards in surprise, nearly falling off the rock. "What's the matter with you?" he hissed. He slid a hand over her waist and gave her a confused look.

Viconia quickly got to her feet, pushing the elf aside. Coran stared after her as she hurried away.

* * *

><p><em>Xan….<em>

Viconia combed her tangled hair anxiously with her fingers as she hurried back to the campsite. All she wanted at this moment was to see Xan. She wanted to tell him how he had suddenly appeared inside her mind and … well, figure out, she supposed, why she had all these peculiar feelings. Was it some surface phenomenon? Why couldn't she simply submit to her carnal instincts like before?

As thoughts of Xan ran over her mind, Viconia regretted her earlier words to him. She shouldn't have dismissed him so harshly. Xan didn't deserve such treatment. Clearly he was not a male drow. He was ... someone who said he didn't want her to have sex "with a lecher who doesn't really care" about her.

Was Xan admitting that _he_ cared about her?

Back at the campsite, Viconia found Arquen and Imoen by the campfire. The pink-haired human was sitting with her hands behind her back and legs stretched out in front of her, leisurely watching her sister preparing their supper. The half-elf had her eyes trained on the pot in full concentration as she stirred the stew like she was concocting a potion.

Xan was nowhere to be seen.

Viconia went up to the youngsters and asked, "Have any of you seen Xan?"

Arquen looked up with blase turquoise eyes. "Oh, you mean your pet sister? Probably off somewhere brooding," she replied, then went back to whipping the stew with the ladle. Viconia detected the frostiness in her voice, but she would have to deal with the half-elf another time.

"I shall ask the other mongrels then," Viconia said. Imoen chipped in then, "Don't reckon they know either. I just got here. Was with Jaheira and Khalid before and I'm pretty sure none of us seen Xan around."

Viconia searched around the campsite for signs of Xan's gear. The enchanter usually had his spellbook and magical items strewn about his personal space, which Viconia had observed was usually close to the campfire because he hated the cold. But there was nothing here. If he was "off somewhere brooding", perhaps he had plans to reverie there as well, Viconia thought. She stepped away from the campsite, assuming Xan would've gone to a more isolated spot.

Swiftly walking around a tree with a large trunk, she nearly ran smacked into Rasaad.

"Watch where you are going, you blind fool!" she snapped as she glared at the pathetic excuse of a monk, who was carrying a bundle of random items—a scroll case, a small bag of potions, even a cloak, among other things.

"My apologies, Viconia," Rasaad replied in his unrelentingly polite manner. "I was gathering all these items that Xan had dropped."

Viconia gave him another frown. "What do you mean, 'dropped'?"

"I assume he did not mean to have them strewn about like so, and they were not by his pack and bedroll." He gestured in the direction of the river. "I was on my way to fetch water when I came across them."

She looked again at the armful of random things. If Xan's pack and bedroll were not at the campsite … if he had tossed out what appeared to be specifically their group's shared items….

"Xan has left us!"

"Is this a joke, Viconia?"

"DO I LOOK LIKE I AM JOKING?"

Rasaad's eyes widened in alarm. He dropped the scroll case with a loud crack as it hit the ground, and he continued to fumble as he hurriedly put everything down. "I will go after him!" he declared, and made a move to run.

Viconia grabbed the sleeve of his shirt to hold him back. "No! Let me be the one to go!" If the monk went after Xan, he might just aggravate the situation. Ever since she played on his paranoia that Rasaad had been viewing him with lewd eyes, Xan had avoided the monk. She couldn't very well tell Rasaad the truth about her winding them up. "I will find Xan, and ... and I will return," she said firmly.

"What happened, Viconia? Are the others aware of this?" Rasaad asked worriedly.

"There isn't time to explain!" Viconia snapped as she tried not to panic. Suddenly the forest before her looked massive, with trees that appeared identical in every direction. Turning back to Rasaad, she pointed at the items. "When did you last see Xan at camp? Do you have any indication how far off he may have wandered?"

Rasaad surveyed the wilderness around them anxiously, trying to estimate the distance with limited scouting skills. "I believe he did not cross the river to backtrack on our trail. If you hurry south, you could reach him within the hour."

Viconia nodded at the information, then told him firmly again, "Just stay on the course to the mines if I do not return with Xan by dawn. Could you do that? Do not alarm the others. We shall be reconciled with the enchanter soon enough."

The worried look didn't leave his face but Rasaad nodded back. The others definitely would not take kindly to two members suddenly abandoning the group, and they would be especially suspicious with news of the Greycloak withdrawing his aid.

Just as she was about to run off, Rasaad stopped her. "Wait!"

He knelt down and flipped opened the leather potion bag. Quickly rummaging through the bottles, he pulled out two white vials and held them up.

"Oils of speed!"

Viconia accepted the potions and nodded her gratitude at his quick thinking. She quickly swallowed the cold liquid from the first vial, feeling an icy rush down her throat before her legs started to feel as light as feathers. With one last nod at the monk, she began to race through the woods.

* * *

><p>Could her mere words have upset Xan to such extent that it drove the Greycloak to abandon his mission?<p>

_"Have you no consideration for me?"_ Xan had told her, stammering as he did so and with a frantic look in his deep blue eyes. A look that said his world was about to come crashing down because Viconia had decided to seek erotic pleasures from someone else. Then again, the morose elf's world had _always_ been bleak. Besides, he had rejected her offers to partake in such pleasures—why should it offend him when Coran decided to accept something _he_ didn't want?

Viconia cast the perplexing thoughts out of her mind as the second potion of speed took effect in her body and she broke into a run again. She focused instead on avoiding running face long into tree branches along the way. The potion doubled her speed, but its effects barely lasted more than a minute so she needed to cover as much distance as she possibly could.

She leapt over large tree roots and flitted over the forest grounds so swiftly that she barely left a footprint on the earth. When the second potion's effects ran out and her movements slowed, Viconia kept running.

What distance did Xan expect to cover tonight in this formidable forest?

And then she spotted him.

A solitary figure literally dragging himself forward with his head tilted down, his half-opened pack hanging from a shoulder.

"Xan!" she yelled, racing towards him.

Xan stopped in his tracks, dropping his pack with a dull thud to the earth. His face turned sideways as if in a daze and uncertain with the voice he just heard in the night forest. Viconia approached him hurriedly and stood right in front of his path. He turned his head back to face her but kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Why are you abandoning us, Xan?" she asked, her voice slightly breathless from the chase. She clutched her sides as she calmed her breathing. At the same time, she frowned at the moon elf with disapproval.

"I can no longer fulfil my role in the group effectively," Xan replied almost in a whisper, as if mumbling to himself.

"That would be just about the most ridiculous excuse you could come up with!" Viconia said sharply, making him tighten his lips at her chiding. The moon elf remained silently grim with his eyes downcast.

Viconia moved right up to him until their toes touched, and tipped her head sideways so he had no choice but to meet her gaze. "Are you honestly mad over what I said earlier?" she probed in a softer tone. Despite his solemness she couldn't help feeling slightly amused now that she had found him. So he didn't get very far after all.

She gave him a teasing grin next, confident that it wouldn't take too long to placate him and head back to camp. What a tiring day indeed, with all the marching and now running about to fetch Xan back like some misbehaving pet.

"Of all people, I would expect an enchanter to have reign over his own emotions, considering his ability to manipulate the emotions of others so well."

The deep blue eyes started to narrow at her. It mattered little where they were at the moment—she enjoyed coaxing a reaction out of him. "You amuse me, Xan. You act in the manner of a jealous lover, though you are not yet one."

Xan raised a hand and suddenly Viconia felt her limbs tightened and then she stood as stiff as a statue.

A hold spell. Casted so expertly she didn't even sense his chanting until her body had froze.

Xan slowly lowered his hand, his fingers trembling slightly. Finally he bore his eyes into hers, and they blazed with anger and hurt all at once. Her body no longer responded to her will to move it but the inside of her began to fill with dread and worry over what Xan might do to her in this vulnerable state. All Viconia could do was watch, and listen.

"For once, you are telling the truth, about us not being lovers. Nor shall we ever be, because I have acted like a fool by deluding myself that you could treat my feelings with courtesy. I have sorely underestimated the wretched promiscuity of your race," Xan said in a deceptively steady voice, though the corners of his lips twitched in anger.

"Indeed I have failed in controlling my heart and emotions, when my duty depends on mastering them. I suppose it is _marvelous_ to know that my failings have amused you so much."

His voice finally quavered, as if something had broken inside of him. The glare drained away and yielded to his hurt feelings.

"I hope you find what you long for, the happiness you desire on the surface, Viconia, I truly do."

The next thing he did was chant under his breath and disappeared before her eyes. Footsteps rustling through the fallen leaves on the ground told her that Xan had stormed past her. From this point on, he would be invisible to her.

Viconia stood frozen to the spot, feeling extremely vulnerable to an attack as the forest shrieked ominously around her. And inside her head, Xan's words echoed until she was thoroughly affected.

She had treated him like every male she had known, like he deserved all the harshness. Certainly a male drow would have expected such uncharitable regard. Even her husbands never considered fidelity.

Xan was not drow, of course….

Did he honestly believe that he was the only male entitled to her affections? How did he even come to feel so intensely attached to her? They'd only kissed—hadn't even laid with each other—how would they know if there were pleasures worth missing?

The night sky rumbled with a looming storm. Her drow eyes adjusted to the shades of darkness, making out the rainclouds cast overhead.

Thoughts of Xan filled her mind again as she stood motionless. The affections he had shown her were different from all the other surface men she had laid with. He would never violate her and treat her as some transient receptacle of lust. As a male, Xan was shamefully delicate and a coward.

And Xan was also the only person who would put his life in danger for her. There was only one other person in her life who treasured her this much—her brother Valas—and she would never see him again.

A terrible feeling gnawed at her inside. Fear that Xan was lost in the forest and would never return filled her with dread.

_Dark Goddess, free my limbs… reveal where Xan has gone in the darkness,_ she cried inwardly to Shar.

Finally, her body broke free from the spell and her limbs turned loose.

Viconia ran.

* * *

><p>"XAN!" Viconia called into the night.<p>

The forest responded with the rustle of leaves and the shrill chorus of cicadas.

Blindly, she sprinted further southwards, past the trees and bushes that were beginning to look as if she were running around in circles. When she began to tire, Viconia stopped to catch her breath and scoured the ground in vain for footprints or leaves swept aside ... _anything_ that could reveal a path to Xan. After a moment, she held her breath to listen for his footsteps. Again, she could only hear the cry and scurrying of insects from the canopy above her and the wind sweeping through the tree branches.

"XAAAN!"

It was reckless, _incredibly stupid,_ to shout like that in the wilderness, knowing that nocturnal creatures lurked all around her. But it was the only way to get the enchanter's attention. Xan _had to_ respond. He _had to_ come back for her. She ran even further, calling his name again and again, each time cracking her voice some more, sounding more desperate than the last.

_Mistress of the Night, reveal to me what cannot be hidden from you._

Suddenly, a whistling sound shot past two narrow tree trunks beside her. Viconia threw herself down to the ground instinctively.

But not before an arrow impaled itself in her thigh.

Viconia let out a cry as the pain registered and seared her flesh. She dug her fingers into the ground, grasping at the earth and grass absently as she steadied herself. Slowly, she pushed herself up in an awkward sitting position to examine her right leg. On her outer thigh, was a raised lump of flesh where the arrowhead had buried itself. The shaft and fletching were pale, distinctively elven, and familiar to Viconia.

_No, not this elf! _

Between the two trees where the arrow had come from, the wild figure stepped into view with his longbow raised. Another arrow was already notched in the bow.

Viconia sucked her teeth as she tried to control her body from shaking in pain. She didn't want to appear weak and helpless, at least never in front of this horrid elf. She should have let him bleed to death at the bandit camp instead of healing him. With the fiercest of will, she raised herself up on her knees.

The ranger Kivan stepped up to her with his weapon trained at her. His dark eyes, even blacker than the night, regarded her with pure hatred. Viconia scowled back at him in defiance. He cocked his head sideways, then lowered his longbow and returned the arrow to the quiver strapped to his back. Then he leaned towards her.

Calmly, he reached for the arrow in her thigh and tugged at it. Drawing it out slowly like removing a sword from its scabbard without a sound.

Tears sprang unwittingly in Viconia's eyes as she hissed from the pain. Her wound screamed its agony. A warm stream of blood began to flow down the side of her thigh when the arrowhead slipped out of her flesh. Kivan remained emotionless as he kept his eyes on her.

"Let me go … I have to find Xan …" Viconia pleaded at Kivan in a weak voice. Blood dripped from her thigh and onto the earth. She didn't dare move or cast a healing spell just yet in case the wild elf disrupted it.

Kivan's dark eyes were cold, devoid of emotion and certainly of mercy. She knew quite well that his sole purpose for staying alive was to avenge his murdered wife. Vengeance aside, the wild elf seemed driven by the primitive instincts of a hunter in the wild, and when it came to her, the deep elven hatred of drow.

"What crime have you committed against my kinsman?" Kivan growled, pointing the bloodied arrow accusingly at her.

Under different circumstances, Viconia would not have placed herself in such a pathetic situation. But at this moment, more than anything else, she wanted—_needed_—to find Xan. Even Kivan must realize her sincere intent. "It was a … misunderstanding," she replied softly. "Let me go. The risk of losing Xan becomes greater with every second you delay me."

The wild elf's face only hardened some more. "You shall not offend him, or anyone else again, foul creature."

Kivan raised his longbow again and started to redraw the same bloodied arrow. This time he aimed for the space between her eyes at point blank range.

Viconia felt what little hope she had managed to cling onto leave her. There was no way she could outrun or overpower the merciless elf. Unless Shar prevailed….

Then Kivan let out a yelp as he tumbled onto his side roughly. The sudden jerk on his longbow caused the arrow to spring and fall harmlessly to the ground.

Xan's invisibility was dispelled as he wrestled Kivan to the ground. He cried out at Kivan in Elvish as he pinned the wild elf's body down awkwardly, trying hard not to hurt him. When the wild elf recovered from the surprise tackle, he shouted back, then deftly twisted out of Xan's hold and threw the enchanter off him with his much greater strength. Xan fell back, and in the time it took for him to scramble back to his feet, Kivan had pulled out one of his longswords.

Viconia swallowed hard in fear as Kivan narrowed his eyes on her once more with murderous rage.

Again, Xan cried the same Elvish words: "N'ndengina he!" He held up a hand at Kivan as he moved to stand in front of Viconia. As futile as it would have been against the seasoned swordsman, Xan still drew his moonblade with his other hand.

Kivan regarded Xan with an expression of disbelief at the moon elf's protective stance, especially at the legendary elven weapon drawn against him. He turned to Viconia, then back at Xan again, this time marred with revulsion. Shaking his head, he bent over to retrieve his longbow with his other hand. He spat out one last rebuke at Xan before storming away.

She was safe from the wild elf!

Xan dropped to his knees and stared after Kivan. He remained facing in the same direction long after the wild elf had disappeared out of sight, his resolve crumbled.

Behind him, Viconia sank herself to the ground, soiled with loose dirt and her own blood. She sucked her teeth as she examined her thigh again. It was like a hole in her leg, the pink raw flesh light against her ebony skin. Her hand trembled as she held it over the wound. Tears sprang unwittingly again to her eyes as she casted her healing spell. Just as she called for Shar's healing powers, she mentally expressed her gratitude to the Lady of Loss for returning Xan to her.

When she had healed herself as much as she could, slowly, Viconia got to her feet. Her body felt weak, drained; her leg though healed was numbed and heavy.

But Xan was here, in front of her. He had came back, and again he had saved her life.

"Xan?" Her voice choked, overwhelmed with the realization of another close brush with death. She also realized that in saving her, Xan had chosen to side with her over his own kin. Why? Such an act was unfathomable.

Xan didn't respond. Nor did he turn around to look at her. He didn't even flinch. It was as if he couldn't hear her.

Slowly, Viconia limped over in front of him.

When she saw the expression on his beautiful face, a sickening feeling wrenched at her heart. She couldn't explain the feeling inside her, contorting her mind and reasoning, strangling her breath, for causing this expression. On most days, Xan wore a grim look on his face. Occasionally he wore a mask of frustration. Even when physically wounded, he had never looked so … _pained_, and Viconia knew this was something none of her spells could heal.

"What have I done?" His voice faltered with his will.

Xan staggered to his feet and looked around him absently with hollow eyes. At this moment, Viconia may as well be invisible, as he seemed unaware of her presence. Xan dragged himself over to his strewn gear a few feet away, and picked it up mechanically.

Then he began to walk away again.

* * *

><p>"Xan?" Viconia repeated for the third time as she stood at the riverbank, peering into the back of the moon elf's head.<p>

"Please … say something to me?" Viconia begged, wishing she could climb onto the rock as well and sit herself next to him. However the rock wasn't big enough for the both of them to sit next to each other and it was also perched at the edge of the river.

Together, they had walked a small distance in complete silence, Viconia following a few feet behind the moon elf until they came upon the river. Xan had stopped to wash away the dirt on his face and hands from the scuffle with Kivan. Then he had climbed onto the rock and for the last fifteen minutes he had sat there staring into space.

Above them, the impending storm rumbled its final warning, and Viconia looked up at the black, angry clouds. It had already started raining further upstream, and the rushing water began to whip past all the rocks fiercely on its journey through the forest.

Yet Xan remained as immovable as the stone. Viconia sighed. Tapping his back and tugging the back of his robes hadn't worked—he just shrugged her hands off. In order to get Xan's attention, she supposed she would have to resort to melodrama … Viconia took a deep breath and stepped right into the river.

Although the water was so cold that goosebumps formed on her skin within seconds, it was the icy torrent hurling against her sensitive thigh that made her let out small cries of pain.

But she succeeded in getting Xan to finally look at her. She waded through the rushing water, grateful that it only wet her boots and couldn't reach the scaled leather skirt she donned. Of course once the storm arrived, it may well reach up to her shoulders. She stopped right in front of him and crossed her arms, from the iciness rushing past her legs, and because she wanted to him to take the situation seriously.

"Xan … a storm will arrive soon, and being by the river then is ill-advised," she told him firmly without making it sound like she was scolding him. Then she added softly, "It is cold."

Xan regarded her as if he didn't quite believe her claims, amongst all the other doubts he had about her, but slowly, obediently, climbed off the rock.

They backtracked into the woods again and found a raised and clear patch of land where Xan preoccupied himself with the task of fixing his tent and stringing a tarpaulin across several trees with more outdoor skill than she would have given him credit for. Although it went without saying from the start, the realization that he would have to share his sleeping arrangements only dawned upon them when Xan pushed the rest of his gear inside the cramp tent, then turned to see Viconia standing around watching him.

Unless he didn't care that she had to stay outside in the feeble shelter … True enough, Xan hesitated for a moment, looking back and forth between the tent and Viconia. When the thunder sounded again, he decided to stand aside to let Viconia enter the tent first.

Viconia removed her damp boots and left them outside to dry before crawling into the tent. His bedroll and blanket had already been laid out. When Xan crawled in after her, they awkwardly tried to put as much space between them by squeezing themselves to the opposite sides. But the option of leaving so much space on the bedroll unoccupied seemed rather pointless so they ended up laying down next to each other face up.

Another awkward minute passed before Viconia took a resolute breath and turned to face him. "Thank you, Xan, for coming to my aid."

The rain started to fall. Xan remained motionless with his eyes staring upwards as if counting the raindrops pelting against the tarpaulin roof above them. "Kivan believes I have disgraced our race for associating myself with you," the moon elf said in a very quiet voice.

"He has not yet met Coran," Viconia couldn't help making the jibe.

Instead of agreeing with her, Xan seemed to stiffen instead.

Of course, he didn't know what actually happened with Coran tonight … "You should know that I didn't lay with the archer," she told him.

Xan turned to her briefly, confused. "How come? Were you not able to find him in the forest? Or were you interrupted?"

"We did meet, and we were about to … indulge. Then he tried to kiss me, and … as strange as it may sound, thoughts of you haunted me. It was a bizarre moment. A most peculiar feeling. I simply could not carry on."

There, she admitted the truth, as weak and as ludicrous as it may make her sound. If it meant something to Xan to know that she had not lain with Coran, then she would be honest.

Xan turned away from her again. "Regardless, I have been so, so incredibly foolish to think you are not like other drow." Xan sighed deeply. "You are here not because you give a damn about me. You are here because you are confused about your own feelings. If you had blithely laid with Coran, you wouldn't be here, would you?"

"I …" Viconia couldn't answer him right away. For, honestly, what would she have done? When she considered it, she supposed she would've been enjoyed the dalliance with Coran … and more time would've passed before she returned to the campsite to find Xan gone.

"I would still come in search for you, but I would have discovered you gone later, and perhaps you would have already ventured much too far for me to have found you."

Xan let out an uncharacteristic snort. "You amaze me with how you always find a way to shift the blame around." He sat up and went through his pack to retrieve his cloak. He threw it around himself as a blanket before going back to staring at the roof of the tent. The pitter-pattering of the rain felt like ellipses in their conversation.

Viconia sighed to herself and attempted again to create a new slate. She turned to her side and reached over to place her hand on his stiff arm. Xan refused to meet her eyes but he didn't recoil or push her away.

"Xan, I sincerely wish to … apologize," she began, to his grim face. "I have acted poorly towards you, even though you are one of the only surfacers who have treated me fairly.

"I … I know in return for your amity you seek my affections. If you desire so, I can offer you all the pleasures that a drow woman may bestow." She moved her hand across his chest before curving it around the crook of his neck.

Xan sighed—which didn't sound like a sigh of pleasure at her closeness—and grabbed her hand by the wrist. Moving her hand all the way back over her, he dropped it on her side.

"It does not work that way, Viconia."

His action stung her as well as confused her greatly. "You … confuse me. Even now you refuse my touch. Yet you take offense when I sought another's company," Viconia couldn't help saying. "Why do you contradict yourself so, Xan?"

"Viconia," Xan replied with a sigh, "just because you have feelings for someone, does not mean you should rush into physical intimacy with them."

A most strange notion, to go against one's natural inclinations, like saying one must not eat though one is famished. "The archer certainly does not restrain himself. I dare say he feels not even affection, only spurs of lust."

"Do _not_ ever use Coran as an example of elven—of _any_ man's attitude towards love. _Please_."

"What is 'love' as you believe it is meant to be then?"

"Love is … not to be confused with lust, for one thing," he said in a faraway voice. Viconia could sense him stirring under his cloak, as if trying to draw comfort from the notion. "It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

All this seemed the complete opposite of what she had known her whole life, except … except maybe when it came to Valas. The relationship they had, what he did for her … Viconia did not want to think about her brother, so she squeezed her eyes shut and thought about Xan's words again.

_Protection, trust, hope, perseverance. _

"Such notions elude me," Viconia admitted. Only surfacers could understand this version of love, she supposed. There was the absence of fear and suspicion. No concept of loss.

"They elude me too."

Viconia turned to Xan again, but he had his back faced to her now.

What he just said … if she had felt a sense of bitterness for not knowing, let alone experiencing, what love was—what could he be feeling from being estranged from such surface notions?

Whatever love was, it seemed to be having a devastating effect on the both of them.

She decided to sleep facing Xan's back. Whether he had already slipped into reverie or not, she couldn't tell, but he remained silent. Viconia wanted nothing more than to hold him again. To feel that strange warm sensation again when he kissed her. The way he wrapped his arms around her, so gentle as if she was made of porcelain, yet not wanting to let her go. She nestled her face into his blanket, imagining it to be the fabric that separated her from his body.

But it couldn't take away the wall that had erected between them, and all of it was her own making.

* * *

><p>Daylight had already seeped into the tent when Viconia awoke.<p>

She was still lying on her side in the same position, but the space in front of her where Xan laid was now empty.

"Xan!" she bolted upright and cried out instinctively, panic filling her at the thought he might have left without her. She scrambled out of the tent and scanned the surroundings nervously for signs of the moon elf. The tarpaulin was still stretched across the trees. She put on her boots and searched the area around the raised ground, even checking behind tree trunks as if he could simply be hiding within the foliage. After last night's rain, soggy leaves scattered across the muddy earth outside the tarpaulin shelter. Soon Viconia managed to spot some light boot prints, which led her back to the river.

She found the moon elf standing at the riverbank. Hearing her approach, Xan turned to Viconia with a grim expression still on his face, though having rested and washed he was back to looking like his usual elegant self, his sharp features with ethereal-like skin making him appear too delicate for the harshness of sunlight.

Although Xan must've seen her waking up at camp a dozen times before, this morning she felt self-conscious as she combed her hair hurriedly with her fingers. She wanted him to cast his eyes upon her favorably once more, to restore that self-confidence that she could get him to always remain with her no matter what she said or did. Viconia knelt down a few feet away and started splashing water on her face, feeling somewhat self-conscious with Xan standing so close even though he averted his eyes.

When she was done cleaning her face, Viconia moved over to Xan's side and they stood facing the river together. To journey out of Cloakwood would require crossing the river at some point and backtracking south, then east. Which Xan appeared to be contemplating as he casted his gaze over the passage flowing past him, gentle and inviting this morning compared to last night's stormy torrents.

"Shall we set off soon to return to the others?" she asked hesitantly.

Xan kept his gaze on the other side of the river. "First I let myself become a prisoner in Nashkel, and now I have allowed myself to succumb to emotional turmoil," he mumbled without emotion. "Before I am further distracted or delayed, and spectacularly fail in this mission, I should let the Greycloaks reassign me elsewhere."

"Arquen and the others need your skills."

"The group needs someone reliable and focused on their duties. To be more precise, they do not need someone afflicted with emotional entanglements."

"Then I shall leave this desolate forest with you, and follow your strength." Viconia wasn't exactly sure how that came across. Did it sound desperate? Pathetic? All she knew was she needed to remain with Xan for a while linger, at least until she was absolutely certain that Kivan wouldn't be able to hunt her down and finish his job.

Finally, Xan turned and bore his eyes into hers. The warmth and affection he once shown her was no longer there.

"Why would you follow me, Viconia?" he asked.

"I owe you my life, as you owe your life to the group. Could we operate on that knowledge?"

If anything, she knew Xan would value his word of honor. The moon elf kept his gaze on her, as if unsure what to say and what to make of her. In the end, he heaved his shoulders as he exhaled loudly. "Very well. We shall return to the others. Should we survive the mission, I will think about my prospects only then."

Without another word, Xan went to gather his gear, and for the time being, turned away from the river and delayed his farewell.

* * *

><p>Together they journeyed back north by following the river, hoping that the others hadn't gone too far ahead. Xan casted spells to hasten their walk several times, moving at a swift pace after his spells ran out. Fortunate not to come across any wild monster or beast, their journey was uneventful. All the way Xan endured her company in cold silence, only speaking to ask if she required rest.<p>

Night had fallen when they finally reunited with the others.

Kivan and Coran found them first.

Likely having befriended each other and presently on the same night watch, the two elves showed themselves in the middle of the forest. They stood like patrol guards at the top of a slope, holding onto their weapons loosely, and waited for Xan and Viconia to approach.

"You have returned," Kivan uttered in his gruff voice and unsmiling face to Xan. To Viconia, he offered a glare. Coran too nodded his greeting at Xan and ignored Viconia completely.

Already Viconia could sense the unspoken bond of elven brotherhood, that told her how they would unite should any one of them ever fall into danger, whether on the battlefield or interpersonal ties. Kivan placed a hand on Xan's shoulder as he led them to the campsite. Viconia followed from a distance as the three elves reverted to Elvish to ensure she wouldn't be part of their conversation.

The moment they stepped into campsite, Arquen and Imoen jumped to their feet when they saw Xan. The pink-haired girl even ran over and threw her arms around the enchanter. "I honestly thought I wasn't gonna ever see you again!" she cried, hugging him affectionately. Xan looked as if he was suffocating but he returned the hug.

"Imoen was worried to death about you," Arquen remarked, not as emotional as her sister but unable to hide her worry over Xan's disappearance as well.

"Yeah! As our magic teacher don't you ever dare leave without finding a substitute first!" Imoen added, still feeling the need to hold Xan and linked her arm around his.

Jaheira and Khalid surrounded the moon elf next, concerned hands slipping over his shoulders. Worried voices speaking rapidly, quickly switching to Elvish for that familiarity and again to reinforce the communion Viconia couldn't be a part of.

Viconia found herself on the outside looking in. Simply from Kivan's presence, she surmised that everyone already knew the part she played in driving Xan away. Nobody paid her any attention. Although she couldn't expect them to care, and from the very beginning she had told herself that the party was a convenient arrangement for her, a sudden pang of isolation gripped her. Could there ever be an occasion where her presence would be welcomed, not for reasons of duty or pleasure, but, simply, because she was missed? It stung her inside more than she allowed it to, and all she could do was pretend she didn't care as she bit her lips and turned away.

Then someone did step up to her.

She looked up at Rasaad, the tall human who looked back at her with that guarded expression he had whenever he spoke to her.

He held up her gear. "Here are your things, Viconia," he said intently.

Viconia looked at her pack and the only possessions she had in this world.

"Is that your way of telling me to get lost?" she asked, masking the bitterness in her voice, and hoping the monk couldn't tell how affected she was.

Rasaad frowned slightly. "Why would I say such a thing to you? I just thought you would like to have your belongings back. I have been carrying them for you. Uh, I hope you don't mind me doing some tidying."

Viconia opened the top of the pack and peered inside to find that the monk had placed her cloak, potions and all the things she had left at the camp the night before. Besides that, he had neatly folded and rearranged everything. She looked up again and he gave her a small shrug as he continued holding up the pack between them.

No matter how the worshipper of Selune felt about their differences, Viconia realized that he had never been less than polite to her. Unlike the others, his soft brown eyes were always kind and gentle, which normally irritated her with such meekness, but tonight, such warmth was appreciated.

"Are you not joining the reunion party?" She gestured at the others who had settled around the campfire.

"Reunion party?" Rasaad glanced over his shoulder to see Xan sitting with the others, speaking in hushed tones. "As I do not understand the elven tongue, I suppose my company will not be missed," he remarked. Then he set down her pack carefully on the ground for her before he said, "I was hoping you would show up tonight and I am relieved."

Viconia tried to hide her surprise. "You were hoping for my return?"

"Well, you told me you will come back, didn't you?"

"You believed me?"

"You have returned, haven't you?"

Viconia sighed inwardly. So trusting was the moon-child. Nonetheless, she appreciated the vote of confidence. She would never admit it, of course. "It is irrelevant now. But I appreciate the fact you did not pilfer and cast my belongings aside. Thank you, Rasaad."

For a moment, the monk looked somewhat stunned. Then he broke into a bright, boyish smile.

"What are you smiling about?" she had to ask, wondering if he was mocking her.

"This is the first time you called me by my name," he told her, still smiling.

The inanity of the monk's world was unbelievable. "I did not realize uttering your name would be such a joyous occasion."

"I suppose when your company has never been worth a kind word or a measure of humanity all this time, when the winds change and blow in your direction, it is a pleasant change of pace."

Viconia glanced again at the camaderie by the campfire. Whether they were bonded by race, past or a common goal, each one of them had a place where they belonged. She bit her lip in silent agreement with the monk. In that moment she was grateful for his presence.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Viconia?" Rasaad continued.

"I suppose this would be the first and last time I would ever ask you this, but, could I have your company for a while longer?"

Again, Rasaad looked a little surprised but he smiled. "It would be my pleasure."

Viconia unpacked her gear, pleased to have her belongings with her and enough warmth for the night again. She decided to place her bedroll at the same spot, and Rasaad settled on the ground a few feet away. He chatted with her as the hour passed, as conversations faded by the distant campfire, and he sat with her still when their companions started to retire for the night.

While she was certain that he deliberately avoided any talk about worshipping the Moonmaiden and Xan, he seemed genuinely interested in her tales on her former home. Although she had never spoken that much with Rasaad before, and prior to this night could not have imagined them tolerating each other's company for that amount of time, Viconia found herself surprisingly at ease and candid with him. She told him about the marvels of the Underdark cities, caverns of luminous crystals, glowing rocks and creatures like stars in the night sky. He listened with interest, and in return he told her about the dusty streets of Calimport, the vast Calim Desert, and childhood memories with his brother Gamaz.

"That past has now been left behind, existing only in memory. Like Gamaz, I suppose," Rasaad shared in a solemn voice. "Have you a brother, Viconia?"

"I … yes, I do. But he is no longer what I once knew him as." She didn't know why she dared mention the memory of Valas to the monk.

"There are times when I wish I could see Gamaz one last time," Rasaad said in a faraway voice. "You must miss your brother too."

Some fates were worse than death, Viconia thought, but she didn't say anything further. They sat together in silent companionship until they were interrupted by Arquen.

"Rasaad, what are you doing over here?" the half-elf asked with a worried frown, bending down beside him.

"I am simply returning Viconia's belongings to her, now that she has returned safely with Xan."

"So I see." Arquen gave Viconia a wary look, still appearing to harbor some unsaid grudge against her. Either that or she was expressively siding with the elves. "Will you be going to bed soon?" She rested a hand on his shoulder and slowly smoothed it over the back of his neck to the other shoulder.

"Let me take the hour's watch. I will be here if you need me." He placed a hand on the half-elf's slender arm and stroke it, gazing tenderly back into her eyes. It provided the assurance the half-elf needed, and Arquen wished them good night. Although they hadn't bonded as lovers, Viconia knew the affection between the two would not be so easily broken by rumors or circumstances.

Rasaad moved a small distance away to meditate after that, but remained close enough to be there for her. As Viconia wrapped her blanket around her, she thought about the hostility from the other surfacers she would have to endure tomorrow, if Xan could ever warm up to her again, even the uncertain dangers as they ventured deeper into Cloakwood. Tomorrow would be filled with strife, of that she was certain. She turned towards Rasaad, and caught his eye when his gaze wandered over in her direction. He offered her a warm smile before he carried on watching over the camp in between his stargazing.

Viconia felt strangely comforted by the presence of the last person she would ever call a friend.


	11. 11: Arquen

"What did you speak to Viconia about for _over three hours_ last night?" Arquen slapped her hands on top of The Cleanest Backpack in the Woods and interrogated the Sun Soul Monk.

Rasaad looked up with an innocent smile as he secured his bedroll to the bottom of the pack, preparing for the morning's march into the northern forest of Cloakwood. "We avoided debate on our differences," he replied.

So ambiguous …

SO SUSPICIOUS!

Arquen fingered his rolled-up blanket and camp mattress, searching for forensic evidence of silvery-white hair (or _any_ long hair for that matter, since for sure one hundred percent it could _not_ have came from his bald head). "You moved your bedroll 153 feet away just so you could slumber close to hers. _Why?_" she questioned next with a frown.

"Was my presence needed for something important last night?"

Answering a question with another question … What happened to the straight-arrow man? And why this sudden buddy-buddy behavior with the drow?

First when Kivan appeared at their camp the night before, howling "my brethren's soul has been lost to that dark-hearted bitch!", to everyone's surprise, _Rasaad_ leapt to Viconia's defense. "Viconia has gone to Xan, and I have utmost faith she will return with him tomorrow," he had declared. When Kivan pinned the monk with a poisonous glare and asked "of all people, how would an adherent of _Selune_ know the convictions of a perverse Sharran?", the monk had professed, "I trust Viconia's words." Since when was Rasaad ever able to hold a conversation with Viconia _without_ arguing about 'moonlight' and 'mistresses of the night', let alone _trust_ what she said?

Secondly, instead of hosting the welcome back party for Xan, his roommate and guidance counselor since the Nashkel Mines, all Rasaad did was present the moon elf with a bag of items and an inventory receipt. "Here! I hope I have retrieved everything you left behind, Xan!" he had quipped like a prison warden returning an inmate's property from jail storage. Then he bounded over to Viconia to spend the night in her company instead.

Arquen took out a cookie from her satchel and gazed longingly at the chocolate chips and pecan nuts that dotted the crumbly biscuit, inhaling the baked cocoa and sugar, then looked at Rasaad tilting his head back to drink from his waterskin.

"Here, you can have my very last cookie." She hated parting with the last cookie she was going to eat in weeks, but surely Rasaad must realize how this was a token of her affection, if bribery was beneath him.

The monk gave her another smile and waved his hand over the treat. "No, thank you. I know you were savoring it," he told her.

The half-elf tucked the cookie back into her satchel. "What did Viconia share of her plans for Cloakwood? Did she tell you _her_ version of what happened?" she asked. The fact that Xan and Viconia could just walk out on the party, in a dangerous place like Cloakwood, shattered the confidence she once had. She would never win the Party Leader of the Year 1368 Award now.

"All will resolve itself. Will you just look at the sun casting its ever-brightening ray through the clouds! The weather smiles on us today!"

Unobstructed by canopies and tall trees where they stood, Rasaad looked up at the scattered yellow-lined clouds. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, as if he could actually inhale and absorb the sun's soul, then exhaled with a contented smile on his face.

As he bent over to pick up his gear, Arquen intercepted him midway to sling her arms around his waist. She hugged him tightly and pressed her face against his chest. Like she did before, only this time he wasn't wearing his shirt and cloak, so she could feel pectoral muscles stiffening against her cheek. Rasaad went still for a moment at what she believed to be the stunning power of her seduction. Then as he returned the embrace by gently brushing aside her long blonde hair and sliding his hands across her back, she started drawing circles on his bare chest with a finger.

Rasaad started to breathe wispily through his mouth, and he gazed down at her with half-drugged eyes. "Please tell me exactly what Viconia said to you. Why must you lie to me? It upsets me so when you keep things from me, like what you did two nights ago," Arquen purred, tracing the knot patterns of his tattoos next.

Then the monk let out a brazen chuckle and pulled away from her. "I am a servant of Selune. I cannot lie to you," he told her. "Didn't I explain how I wanted to tell you the moment I returned to camp that night? But I had to tend to your burning potatoes and all that fire and smoke. Then I had to explain to Jaheira how the pot melted. She was terribly angry, if you can recall. And I had to cook the grass after that."

Last resort. She reached into her small pouch and took out a pinch of red-violet powder. "This is powdered rhubarb and the stomach of an adder, one of the most venomous snakes in the world," she warned him, and rubbed the powder between her fingers until it hissed acidic green smoke. "If anyone is _conspiring_ to walk out on me again …" She faced her palm towards him and gave him a sweet-as-an-angel smile and scary-as-hell eyes.

"Nobody is going to walk out on you. Neither am I withholding any information. It is simply about respecting what others have spoken in confidence, Arquen," the monk told her in a fearless and nagging tone that made her scowl. "Besides, what is holding you back from speaking to Viconia yourself?"

Arquen extinguished the acid arrow and huffed to herself as she surveyed the trees and uneven grounds around them. Rasaad had spent the night away from the campsite with Viconia, and where they were standing currently wasn't within sight of anyone else. Arquen knew though that at this very moment, the drow was answering similar interrogation questions from Imoen (as per her instructions).

_How can you trust Viconia after how she played Xan out?_ Arquen wanted to shout at Rasaad but knew he would turn it into a philosophical lecture on dancing with porcupines. So she didn't say anything else. _After everything she has done to you! _her stubborn mind added anyway. Since Viconia started traveling with them, the drow had insulted the monk, spat in his drink, used him as target practice for her sling and Inflict Wound spells, and changed the public view of his 'Interested In' option for two days.

"I should ask Viconia if she needs any assistance," Rasaad carried on declaring his love for his arch nemesis as he lifted up his gear with one hand. Arquen noted, damningly, that he didn't ask _her_ if he could assist her with anything, like carrying her pack.

She caught him by his belt and steered him back in the direction of the campsite. "Imoen is already tending to Viconia, and _I _will join them now. Why don't you check on your buddy _Xan_ instead?"

Rasaad gave her a puzzled look, but obediently set off to find the enchanter.

_Does he fusses about me the same way? _she wondered. She would need to ask Imoen, and also check with her sister on the words he used and if he exhibited that same yearning expression.

Deciding to keep a close eye on Viconia or risk letting Rasaad fill up all the drow's free time, Arquen headed off in the opposite direction.

* * *

><p>She found the drow still packing her gear with Imoen hovering over her. Arquen hung back for a minute, and watched Viconia folding and refolding her blanket. Certainly there must be a lot going on in the drow's mind, as Imoen wasn't even yapping away in a one-way conversation to distract her. When Imoen saw her approaching, she gave a shrug and chewed on her lips, meaning to say, <em>Nope, I haven't successfully dug up any information of use.<em>

"Hey Viconia!" Arquen stood in front of her and gave an awkward wave. Viconia had her hood pulled well over her eyes, but even so Arquen could see the dramatically subdued expression on her face.

Viconia cast the faraway look at her briefly. "Oh, it is you, Arquen. Is there something you require of me?" She sounded weak, as if she had a flu.

"Um, I was just wondering how you're doing, that's all," Arquen mumbled, twiddling her thumbs. Suddenly dread crept over her nerves at the thought of confronting the drow.

"My heart beats. My legs will not falter." Viconia crawled to her feet. She didn't look at all like her cocky, bold self. That dark creature of lust who once said to her, "When will we rape the males and turn them into our pleasure slaves? I have some powder we can lace their drinks with to incapacitate them yet sustain their pole for half a night!" Who liked bashing faces with her mace just to hear the 'splat splat' sound. Viconia's violet eyes shifted around, as if afraid of the forest. How peculiar, Arquen thought, to have Viconia's callousness grow on her so much that she felt strange, almost lacking, without a daily dose of the drow's verbal abuse.

But if Viconia really had driven Xan into some kind of a manic episode or suicidal act, she had gone overboard and it was time for disciplinary action.

"Viconia, I know you are drow, darkness ascended to the surface, the very avatar of evil and all …" Arquen said slowly, and tried to remain composed as Viconia's face slowly glinted with life again from her words. "But we are all here to watch each other's back, not chase someone away with a knife sticking out of their body. What are we to you? If you think we are nothing but a bunch of bumbling adventurers and virgins by chance, then perhaps … perhaps you would fare better somewhere else."

"Arquen?" Imoen hissed with a frown. "What are you trying to say?"

Viconia took in her suggestion solemnly. "You have been very kind to me in this strange and lighted world. Perhaps you are right, though. The drow were meant to be a race apart … Take care of yourselves, all right?" she said quietly.

So meek … so restrained … so completely unlike herself and so awfully lost that Arquen felt terrible for even suggesting that they should part ways. She reached for the drow's petite shoulder and squeezed it. The gesture felt awkward. Viconia was the kind of woman whose alluring body you could grope every part and crevice of, but giving her a friendly touch felt completely unnatural. The drow didn't even react.

"I didn't mean to tell you to get lost. I am just …" Arquen dropped her hand and felt her face burning. "You really pissed me off, Viconia!" she blurted. "How could you drive Xan to abandon us in this godsforsaken place?! I don't know what you did exactly, but you must have really upset him! I know he's older than most of us—like, all the years of Jaheira Khalid Imoen Rasaad me and a tortoise combined. Not to mention he can control minds. But even the emotions of an enchanter are not to be toyed with! And now you're trying to mess around with Rasaad!"

Arquen wiped at her eyes furiously. She was seeing red and green at the same time. Her emotions threatened to spill out as crazy thoughts raced through her mind. It will be winter before they located the Cloakwood mines. Xan will plunge his moonblade into his own chest and his heart (broken) will burst out of his back. Kivan will go bat shit crazy at the sight of Tazok and chop a dozen people including Khalid and Jaheira to death with a halberd. Her cookie will crumble in that way all cookies crumbled. Rasaad will have sex with Viconia and change his diet to dark meat only. Coran will be eaten by a wyvern. The war will start at Candlekeep….

"Should I apologize for the males seeking my company on their own accord, including your Sun Soul Monkey?" Viconia said calmly. "As for Xan, the mind-controlling wizard has been implanting the most infuriating thoughts inside my head. I was with the other elf that night when such thoughts came upon me like a spell and disrupted our coupling."

Arquen exchanged jaw drops with Imoen. Coran had sneaked away with Viconia on the very same night? On the same day he sweetly suggested, "I wish to turn you into a woman and make you itch forevermore"? Thank the gods Xan had stopped her from sleeping with Coran! But … did this mean Xan and Viconia had something 'serious' going on?

"Though I am annoyed at how my dalliance had a premature end and I had to pursue the enchanter like a misbehaving pet, I hope you are pleased that he has returned, safe and unharmed," Viconia continued. "Along the way we have also reunited with the ill-tempered ranger."

At the mention of Kivan, the drow made a vomit face. "Such foolishness will not happen again."

"Of course it won't happen again if you stop pissing people off and—"

"Is everyone ready to go?"

Rasaad cut short Arquen's sentence when he approached. He was holding up two packs—hers and Imoen's—and from his blank expression, he didn't hear the last few lines exchanged between her and Viconia, or he already knew, and readily accepted, the elvish shenanigans. She decided to speak no further and also avoided eye contact with Viconia as she pulled her pack's straps over her shoulders.

"The elves have already gone ahead," Rasaad informed. When no one made any comments, he eyed them one by one, and rested his gaze on the drow. "Are you all right, Viconia?" he asked in a suspicious voice that was much too soft, therefore must be an expression of his concern.

Arquen quelled an insane desire to beat the monk on his bald head repeatedly with her backpack.

"Yes, I am relieved to learn that there will be much rejoicing when I take my leave from this group," Viconia duly informed him, nodding in Arquen's direction.

Rasaad turned to her with his unhappy teacher look. "Did you really say such unkind things, Arquen?"

"If I did then I forgot to add the part about how the _elves_ might seriously kill their drow enemy at the next provocation or opportune moment," she snapped and narrowed her eyes at Viconia. The drow's purple orbs flared back at her.

"Oohh kaayyy … what say we all take a little morning walk, eh?" Imoen clapped her hands twice loudly to break up the tension. She pushed Viconia in front of her and the drow started trotting ahead on her own. She shooed Rasaad behind them for rearguard duty.

Then she linked arms with Arquen and squeezed the half-elf's hand. "No matter how much you feel like smashing Rasaad over his head with a tree right now, just don't, 'kay?" Imoen advised in a low voice. "He's just bein' Mr Nice Guy. The best way to deal with this is to be Little Ms Nice Girl. Show him you're an angel!"

"No can do. There's a conspiracy between Selunite and Sharran. I can smell it!"

As they got moving, she stayed beside Arquen at first, humming a cheery tune and patting her arm every now and again—until she saw Rasaad heading for the drow. Quickly, Imoen slipped away from her sister, ran over to the monk, and yanked him backwards by the arm.

She then regaled him with her elaborate plans for a ten-day intensive hair treatment program for Kivan. "As the only other person with zero knowledge on hair care, you can give me feedback on whether Kivan is going to understand what I wanna do, or not!"

_Whatever happens, Imoen's always here._ Arquen closed her eyes for a moment to utter a thank you to the gods for Imoen, the only person she could count on. Always.

* * *

><p>"Is it just me, or is Elvish the new Common?" Arquen couldn't help asking Jaheira and Khalid as she shuffled along beside them on the grassy field.<p>

The Harpers had been responding to her only in Elvish as they discussed their plans for the day (locate Shadow Druids, force repentence, otherwise kill), which she thought was strange because they had always conversed in Common in the past.

Then there were the three elves marching in front, tall grass sweeping their knees, Elf Mode tuned to maximum level. No longer strangers, just three very strange men. Coran had gone mute—without pickup lines he knew not how to communicate, much less with elven men. Kivan suddenly became the talkative one, muttering in his gruff manner about _"hunting fearlessly", "Seldarine this", "Seldarine that"_ and "_never forget Shevarash"_. Xan had reverted to his blank mask, as if Kivan had never left, Coran had existed since Nashkel, and life was still all his to lose.

_"It would be wise, for now, to keep our plans amongst just a few of us,"_ Jaheira replied, tossing a sharp look over her shoulder. Arquen looked behind her as well and realized that the group had divided itself according to racial demographics. The three elves led the pack. Arquen and the half-elf Harpers followed a few yards behind. The drow painted a lonely hooded figure as she walked on her own. Guarding the rear were the humans, and of course, Arquen let her eyes lingered slightly longer on the shirtless monk.

And saw Rasaad shifting his gaze over to Viconia at the far right for the hundredth time.

Noticing Arquen gripping her short sword, Imoen quickly pointed at a bird in the air, steered Rasaad further to the left, and placed a hand on the side of his face like a blinker.

Arquen declared, _"You're absolutely right! Two can play this game—I want Rasaad to understand what it's like to feel insanely paranoid!" _

_"We are not talking about Rasaad!"_ Jaheira snapped, clipping her ear. The druid turned to Khalid and sank her head into a hand in frustration.

_"You must be careful around the drow, as we have advised before,"_ Khalid explained patiently. He cleared his throat and tried not to gesture at Xan too obviously. _"Even one with decades of experience on the road has erred in judgment on this matter."_

Arquen sighed as she looked at the enchanter in front of them on some sort of memorial walk with his head drooped down. His relapse into depression saddened her too. He might as well have been dragged out from captivity and torture again. She had really liked the livelier version of Xan when they first set off to Cloakwood, even if his contorted happy face creeped her out more than the sight of zombies chewing on entrails. The moon elf's long eyelashes would flutter and dew with tears, as if to oil his rusty features before he could pull together a grin. Unaccustomed to laughing, he would hiccup in amusement.

Since his return last night, Xan looked not just depressed but totally spaced out. He barely uttered anything beyond "yes", "no" and "whatever", and didn't mention anything about what had happened between him and Viconia beyond an apology for "the delay in our mission". As they came upon a tributary, though it was nothing more than a wet trail of slippery stones leading westwards with water trickling through them, the enchanter didn't seem to have the energy to even manage a leap, letting water splash over his boots and soak the bottom of his robes as he dragged himself over the tiny stream.

"Whoa! That river is humongous!" Imoen's bubbly voice interrupted her thoughts.

Arquen turned around to see her sister half-dragging, half-pushing Rasaad completely off course now, heading west downstream. Even Viconia stopped to look at the two humans in amusement before hurrying after them. Arquen decided to follow Team Common as well, ignoring the disapproving glare from Jaheira.

Imoen was right. The trail branched out into a river so wide that only the tallest pine tree could fall and touch its bank on the other side. Its opposite bank also looked like the high land had been sliced off abruptly as the river curved northeast.

"Told ya it's huge!" Imoen chirped, nearly pushing Rasaad into the deep water in her excitement as they came to a rocky shore. Arquen hurried over to her side and together they oohed at the rushing river. All their sheltered lives, they had only seen such sights in paintings so it all looked very grand indeed. Imoen pointed across the river.

"Look! Four bears huddlin' by the river! Aren't they just the cutest, fuzziest things?!"

On the opposite bank were four black bears huddled together as if in deep discussion. At Imoen's loud chirp, they looked over their shoulders at their audience. Then one by one they turned to position themselves at the edge of the river. One bear stood on its hind legs with its paws on its sides.

"Aw, they're checking us out," Imoen continued, grinning and waving at the bears.

_"Do not provoke the wildlife!" _Kivan appeared in front of them and grunted angrily in Elvish.

"Much sorry, I no speak elf," Imoen retorted, sticking her tongue out at the ranger. It stunned the wild elf into staring at her with his mouth open, never before subjected to such cheekiness.

"Elf hates teddy," Arquen joined in to tease the super serious elf. Kivan's black eyes flared. "Who is Teddy? Is this a drow?" he demanded. If Rasaad possessed zero sense of humor, Kivan's humor was in the negative range.

Just then the bear with the attitude swan-dived into the river. Kivan cursed under his breath about _"ignorant townsfolk" _and tightened his grip on his longbow.

Rasaad's eyes went a little wild at this point. "Bears can run _and_ climb trees at great speed," he rambled, though he wouldn't be wrong in assuming that the group would make him act as bait. Again. Even Viconia started backing away from the riverbank and kept pointing at the monk.

"The bear is showing off its butterfly stroke!" Imoen giggled, still unperturbed and admiring how the bear was creating waves as its huge body surged through the water. Halfway across the river, the bear's form transformed into that of a human man, complete with a frayed leather outfit.

Kivan and Rasaad stood on their guard whilst the women watched in fascination as the man swam quickly across the river and scrambled onto the rocky shore. He stood and shook his head roughly to dry his long dark hair like a dog. Then, boldly, he strode right up to them and bellowed.

"Take not another step! I would know your purpose in this wood. Tell me true lest you feed the trees from below!"

_Five against one._ Unafraid, Arquen gave him a small smile and told him politely, "I am but a wistful traveler, enjoying the woods and nature as well."

What she said enraged him further. "A wistful traveler?" he spat out. "Yet another fool that lurches about in the woods—" (he made air quotes with his fingers) "—'appreciating' nature while remaining blind to the problems caused by their kind. Such blatant naivete!" The shapeshifter grabbed a stick from the ground and turned it into a quarterstaff. He pointed it menacingly at her. "Give me one good reason why I should not purge the woods of your presence!"

Arquen changed her tone quickly and did a Jaheira Roar instead. "I hunt those that would defile these woods! Bandits are my quarry!"

It worked in establishing rapport with the wild man as he relaxed his demeanor. "Hmm … a noble goal, and one that my fellow Shadow Druids will no doubt support," he said.

_Shadow Druids?_ Arquen exchanged knowing looks with the others, and wondered how far ahead Jaheira had gone.

"You should have an escort however, just to make sure you do more good than harm," the man continued with furrowed brows. "I recommend you speak with Faldorn. She will gladly share your fervor in exterminating those that poison these woods to the east." He pointed at a bridge further up the river. "Go now, and seek her aid."

"Who might you be, aside from being a Shadow Druid?" Arquen wanted to know.

"I am Takiyah, a child of our Oak Father," he replied simply. As Takiyah started to leave, the rest of Team Elf emerged, and the Shadow Druid casted his eyes unfavorably on the entire troop, which appeared to have exceeded the maximum capacity of people allowed in this part of Cloakwood. Then as his eyes rested on Jaheira, he began to snarl.

"You cannot hide from judgment while within the sight of a Shadow Druid! All who claim membership in traditional druidic orders must contend with our wrath, as will all that defile nature."

He pointed his quarterstaff at Jaheira this time. "I have identified Jaheira among you, no doubt she has converted you to her fantastical views wherein people live alongside nature in—" (he pulled back his quarterstaff briefly to make air quotes again) "—'harmony'. Such views are weak, and must be purged! You have consorted with enemies of the Shadow Druids, and death shall be the penalty!"

Takiyah shouted at the top of his lungs, "Shadow Druids! Transform and rise up!"

With a scream, he leapt at Jaheira and transformed into a black bear in mid-air. The Harper hit the ground with a sickening shriek from being crushed by a 300-pound beast. Around her the elves and Khalid pulled out their swords and began mercilessly stabbing the druid-bear with every type of blade in their inventory: longsword, two-handed sword, bastard sword and moonblade. So to complete the effect, Arquen joined in the stabbing party with her short sword, Imoen with her dagger and Rasaad with his wakizashi. As Takiyah spurted out blood from all over his bear body like a deflating water balloon, Viconia finished her spellcasting and delivered the final blow with her Flame Blade.

"J-jaheira!" Khalid screamed as he threw down his bastard sword to pull his wife's petite body from under Takiyah, who had shapeshifted back into his human form in death. Although all the blood splattered on the druid didn't belong to her, Jaheira had gone limp. Khalid began shaking, close to tears, in his panicked state as he held onto his wife. "She c-cannot heal herself!" he cried.

Without a word, Viconia pushed and shoved her way through the men. She dropped to her knees beside Jaheira and began to heal the druid's broken body. Coran and Xan turned away as if they couldn't stand to watch, and Kivan muttered curses under his breath as he watched the drow touching Jaheira's body with revulsion.

Arquen knelt down next to Viconia in case the drow needed her assistance. She couldn't see any open wounds but guessed that there had to be some broken bones and crushed organs. She also wanted to keep the elves at bay.

There was no time for the elves to comment though, as deep roars and footsteps thundered through the forest around them ominously before over a dozen black and brown bears came charging at them through the trees.

Xan waved his hand and two bears let out a snort before falling to the ground to hibernate. The moon elf then grabbed Imoen to step through an invisible door just before a bear clamped its massive forelegs around her.

Khalid, with great reluctance, let out a cry and left Viconia and Arquen to tend to Jaheira. "Keep the beasts away!" the fighter shrieked as he bashed his shield mutedly into a solid mass of brown bear. Coran and Rasaad rallied around the area to keep the bears away from disrupting Viconia's healing; the archer swinging a two-handed sword about in place of his longbow, and the monk zipping around in a constant state of blur to knock the bears back. Outside the small circle, Kivan delivered a few arrows with his longbow before leaping onto a bear. Despite the bear trashing about, the ranger managed to will the large beast under his command, then rode it away like an obese horse.

Arquen stood to shelter Viconia's back with her short sword drawn. Her heart beat madly as the bears roared all around them like a fierce thunderstorm closing in. She shrieked when a black bear broke through the three warriors' line and let loose magic missiles at it. The bear didn't slow its run as the missiles slammed into its bulk with loud blasts—it only growled fiercer through the pain before knocking the half-elf over sideways. Arquen felt herself rolling over the ground, dirt and grass flying about her, her short sword tossed aside, before the bear clamped its jaws over her left arm painfully and horror struck her over how her limb was about to get chewed up like a celery stick.

Fortunately, she had taken the blow instead of Viconia. The drow, anxious to complete her healing as quickly as possible, was shouting out her chant over Jaheira.

A grey blur appeared in flash and rammed into the bear. Arquen's arm came free and she scrambled to her feet. She casted her own healing spell over her battered arm as she watched Rasaad spin-kicking the bear to force it to back off, spinning around with dizzying speed. When he had the bear cornered at the edge of the high riverbank, it transformed back into a Shadow Druid. The man screamed, "We will cleanse the woods of your poisonous taint!"

Rasaad's kick sent the druid airborne with a back flip into the river.

A moment later, the monk was back in front of her, and his hands were holding her face, fingers tucked into her hair. "Are you wounded? There is blood on you!" he asked, panting as he caught his breath. His brown eyes scanned her body from head to toe before focusing on her eyes.

"He wanted my arm for a chew toy, but I've fixed it. I–I'm fine!" she told Rasaad, hearing her voice turn squeaky at the thought of having her arm broken … and at his display of affection. It was a terribly inappropriate moment for such thoughts to cross her mind, what with Viconia trying to save Jaheira from dying nearby, and a bear now pinning Coran and Khalid to the ground by sitting on top of them.

But, here was Rasaad sliding his hands down her neck, and over her shoulders and arms, madly worried about her.

Arquen shook off the intoxicating effects of the monk's pheromones, then bent and flexed her arms. She didn't feel anymore pain, only the warmth from the grip of his strong hands.

"Thank Selune!" he rasped, before Coran's howl of "This is not my idea of being at the bottom!" and animal roars compelled him to return to the battle. Flames swept over his fists and Rasaad dashed off to deliver a fiery uppercut to the nearest bear.

From the ground, Jaheira let out a strangled cry as she came to with renewed rage against the Shadow Druids. Arquen rushed over and, together with Viconia, pulled the Harper back to her feet.

"We have more than enough warriors. Don't strain yourself!" she told the other half-elf. Jaheira gave her the stink eye and growled, "I will not stand here and allow diabolical sects to thrive!" She grabbed her quarterstaff from the ground, gripped it tightly and resolutely in both hands, then took a moment to survey the ongoing battle.

"Your sword, Arquen!" Viconia retrieved the short sword from the ground and tossed it at her. Then she held onto her mace and, like Jaheira, studied the ongoing clashes between each of their warriors and a bear or two.

"Jaheira! My love!" Khalid broke away momentarily from the battle after decapitating a bear and bounded over to his wife. He kissed her quickly on the lips, immensely relieved that she was back on her feet.

Jaheira let her husband have his moment, then resumed her authority and shouted.

"Only attack the Shadow Druids! Leave the bears alone!"

"Yes, dear!" Khalid quipped, also glad to have their commander back on field. He picked a random bear—one that looked just like any other to Arquen—and charged at it with a battle cry in the same octave as Jaheira.

At Jaheira's instruction, Arquen readied herself to cast the few acid and flame arrows at her disposal.

She found herself shifting her hand around aimlessly.

_Which is a real bear and which is a shapeshifter?_

Three bears lumbered towards Jaheira and arranged themselves in a straight row. A few feet away, Xan and Imoen reappeared. The enchanter strode by with his hand in the air, holding the creatures' will. The moon elf gave Jaheira a nod before leaving her to direct the bears away from the area. Again, Arquen tried her hardest to spot the differences between them and the other equally ferocious-looking beasts throwing punches at the warriors.

For the life of her, she couldn't tell.

Upon getting the real bears to safety, Jaheira narrowed her eyes at Rasaad wrestling with a bear.

"That is not a druid, Rasaad! That is a bear! STOP HURTING THE BEAR!"

"But … but …" Rasaad pulled back the punch he was about to deliver, allowing the brown bear an attack of opportunity. He yelped as the bear walloped him in the eye with a loud 'biff!'. The monk staggered backwards and, out of his good eye, saw three bears closing in on him. One of them punched its fist into its paw's palm. Another cracked its bear knuckles. The third raised its hands as if casting a spell.

Not knowing which bear to hit, Rasaad bolted from his position. The leader bear pointed after the monk, roared a directive, and all three bears began chasing after him.

Arquen watched Rasaad sprint past Team Elf, who appeared to have the innate ability to discern which exactly were the druid-bears, judging by how Coran and Kivan were now working in harmony as they hopped over bears. They almost looked like they were dancing together, the graceful way in which they were sailing over the creatures' heads and backs and letting loose arrows only at the shapeshifted ones.

"I just wasted a fireball on a lone druid and feel like all I'm doing is just buffing the guys up. Xan seems to know exactly which is a treehugger and which isn't!" Imoen slid to Arquen's side and muttered. She had a hand in her spell component pouch, hesitating to let loose her spells.

"Our Harper is the fattest bear—that is the most I can discern!" Viconia remarked, pointing at two brown bears fighting each other.

"How do we tell which is a real bear and which isn't?" Arquen yelled at Team Elf.

"Real bears have brown eyes!" Khalid shouted as he slashed away at a druid-bear, spraying blood and fur everywhere until the massive creature transformed back into a human in ragged robes when she died. "Jaheira has light blue eyes!" He pointed with his shield at two identical brown bears in a fistfight and charged at one of them.

She glanced at Imoen and Viconia and all of them shared the same thought: no way were they going to get that close to a 500-pound bear to gaze into its hazel eyes!

A screeching cacophony of locusts descended upon the area then, and sent Coran and Kivan tumbling to the ground as the insects whisked them off the bears. Even Xan let out a series of curses as his spells were interrupted. Khalid tried to bat off the locusts at first; then as they pelted his shield and helmet like hail, the Harper lost his composure altogether and started running away. Only those in bear form seemed unaffected, flicking the air as if they were flies.

The three women immediately chanted out spells to dispel the insects. As suddenly as they appeared, the locusts vanished. The elves scurried about retrieving their weapons, and within moments Kivan was riding another bear along the riverbank and Coran had pulled out his two-handed sword again, shouting, "My second biggest weapon shall be your death!" Xan, downed by the insect plague and possibly suffering some sort of allergy reaction, was swallowing a healing potion.

And then the men were hit by another swarm of locusts.

Arquen berated her unwise decision to memorize spells on clairvoyance to spy on Rasaad and Viconia instead of the much-needed Dispel Magic at this moment. Luckily, Imoen was wiser and had another spell at hand. Her sister wasted no time in dispelling the summoned locusts.

"Arquen! Two cud chewers across the bridge!" Viconia pointed out. On the other side of the river, near the end of the long wooden bridge, two Shadow Druids had their hands and quarterstaffs raised as they took turns to cast one spell after another at their leisure.

"Let's focus on those druids across the bridge!" she barked at Imoen as soon as her sister's spells had gotten rid of the insect plague. Together, the three of them raced up the riverbank. Arquen and Imoen shot a flame arrow each to disrupt the druids' spellcasting. The human man and woman shouted nature-themed insults and began to sling stones at them with deadly accuracy. Arquen ducked and avoid a couple of missiles, but when she raised her hands to cast another flame arrow, a stone struck her square in her left arm.

It felt as if her previous wound had just reopened itself with a vengeance, embedding a stone coated in acid into her arm.

"Their aim is impressive. We should engage in melee!" Viconia exclaimed, raising a small buckler to shield herself as she kept pushing Arquen towards the bridge.

"We're not fighters!" Arquen replied, wincing at the 'thunk!' as a bullet slammed into the buckler. But as she glanced back at the warriors as well as Xan, they appeared close to being overwhelmed by the onslaught of bears as well as another swarm of locusts.

"There are three of us against two of them, and the insects will swarm us next if we do not move with haste! I do not fear the tree-huggers!"

With that said, Viconia started racing across the bridge with her mace, screaming, "Lil'alur! For Shar!" For a second, the Shadow Druid couple stood stunned by the sight of a raging drow. Panic fell over their faces before they threw their arms overhead to stone the dark elf. She may not be the strongest person, but Viconia possessed lightning-quick reflexes, batting away missiles aimed for her with her buckler and lurching out of the way.

That gave the sisters all the courage they needed to engage the Shadow Druid couple on their own. Arquen sprinted after Viconia, forgetting her injured arm as she gripped her short sword tightly in the other. Before running after them, Imoen sent a lightning bolt right across the river, zapping the man until sparks flew off his body and he coughed out fizzling sounds. His comrade though dodged just in time.

When all three of them rushed the other Shadow Druid, she was ready with her quarterstaff, and despite the odds, managed to keep knocking them back with the overcompensating long stick. Arquen felt herself seething as she rolled sideways again, getting nowhere close with her short blade, and she didn't have any more missile spells.

Then the Shadow Druid transformed into a bear.

So did her male companion, into the biggest, most vicious, prehistoric version of the animal.

Viconia let out a string of drow expletives before pulling out a potion. Upon drinking it, she promptly vanished. An invisibility potion, one that Arquen didn't even know she had on her.

Arquen stared at the bears close up. Khalid wasn't kidding—they had light green eyes instead of brown! She now thoroughly regretted all the Detect Thoughts spells she wasted on memorizing today to read Rasaad's mind (none of which, for the record, worked, except to make him scratch his head). Her short sword wilted like a plant. When the druid-bears roared and sprayed her with their spittle, with no chance of outrunning and overpowering them, she resorted to screaming at the top of her voice.

"HELP! HEEEEELLLLP! TUA LYE! YEEEEEE!"

The half-elf tumbled around avoiding swipes from powerful paws, and hacked away tufts of fur. To her dismay as well as relief, both the druid-bears were determined to beat her down instead of Imoen. Circling a lone fir tree as fast as she could, Arquen hoped that as massive creatures, they would take more time to lumber around in circles. Imoen had always said "that's why Puffguts could never catch me if I ran around a pillar!"

_How fast can bears swim?_ Arquen glanced quickly at the river as she considered diving into the water next, wondering if bears were terrible swimmers to make up for being terrific climbers.

She rejoiced at the sight of Rasaad. Slowly but surely he was making his way over the bridge, gliding backwards, still exchanging punches with a cave bear at the middle of it.

"I'M COMING, ARQUEN!" the monk shouted when he turned briefly and locked eyes with her. The rage in his voice gripped her with assurance, even though she had wished to hear those words first proclaimed in a completely different context. She dived to the side as one of the druid-bears attempted to pounce on her.

When she glanced at the bridge again, Rasaad's punches were still bouncing off the cave bear's stomach. Khalid had finally gotten over his panic attack and was also on the way to their rescue, fending off a bear by letting it eat his shield and plunging his bastard sword into another on the bridge.

"I hope this works on druid-bears!" Imoen cried, taking advantage of her safe and ignored position to cast a spell. She held her hands up and her voice commanded the attention of the bears. Arquen realized she was casting the new spell Xan taught them a few days ago—Send Charging Bears at Rasaad Instead.

The druid-bears let out woofing sounds upon Imoen finishing the spell, and lumbered to an abrupt halt, ceasing the chase. For a moment they even looked dazed as they turned to peruse the pink-haired human with her hands still trembling in the air.

Then they shifted their attention to the bridge and with a roar charged towards it.

No longer in any danger of being hugged to death by bears, Arquen and Imoen exchanged sighs of utmost relief. "I'm losing count of the times I've survived because of your quick thinking!" The half-elf thanked her sister with a thump on the back.

"Well, nearly everyone has higher intelligent scores than you, y'know." Imoen teased her with a grin at first. Then her eyes widened in horror when the bears jounced onto the bridge.

"Oh uh, I underestimated the weight of the problem!" She pointed at a sign that hung on the corner pole of the bridge that read:

Weight Limit

1 Ton

There was the chest-sinking sound of rope twisting and strangling wood before the strained bridge gave way to the accumulated weight of six huge bears and two adult men jumping up and down on weathered planks. The fighter and monk let out a duet of shouts and cries amidst the wood breaking under their boots, ropes whipping around them and bears making cannonball splashes.

"Oh gods Immy! I can't bear watching!" Arquen clutched at Imoen's sleeve at the bad pun and as they watched Khalid and Rasaad continue the fight underwater. Man and bear limbs flailed over the surface of the water or flung skywards like some sort of synchronized swimming move before disappearing underwater again. Heads would come up for a gasp of air before being dragged under.

Finally delivered from the insect plague, the elven archers rained arrows into the river, sending Shadow Druids bobbing downstream with arrows sticking out of them like a giant pincushions. Although Coran and Kivan were fantastic shots—Coran with the accuracy to hit mosquitoes in the proboscis—Arquen watched the scene through her fingers. All it took was one arrow to wrongly impale itself into Khalid or Rasaad.

On the other side, Jaheira had also transformed back to her half-elf self and was at once tending to a semi-conscious Xan, wanting to dive in to aid her husband, and barking, "Don't you dare drown that bear, Rasaad! Don't you dare drown that bear!"

One Shadow Druid cleverly shapeshifted into a vicious crocodile then. Khalid's helmet came off and he lost his bastard sword. When the reptile pressed in on him, it became too much for the weak-hearted fighter. Arquen suspected that even if the druid had transformed straight into a shiny blue electric and indigo handbag made of saltwater crocodile skin worth 100,000 gold, Khalid would still have descended into sheer terror. For the second time that battle, he screamed and babbled, "Better part of valor! Better part of – blubb – valor!"

Leaping to his aid, Kivan fired repeatedly at the druid-crocodile, but no amount of arrows would take it down though they kept it from snapping at Khalid.

It seemed like Coran had stopped firing his longbow, but Arquen saw him tilting his head as he nooked his arrow, trailing the movements of the druid-crocodile trashing about. In that split second when it hurled its head over the surface to clamp its deadly jaws around Khalid's shoulder, he released the arrow. It hit the crocodile square in its eye. The beast spat Khalid out as its form contorted from cold- to warm-blooded.

Finally, the lifeless druid body floated to the surface and then downstream with the current.

A battered Khalid resurfaced near the opposite riverbank, and the elves quickly pulled the warrior up and back onto dry land, laying him flat on the ground. Having healed Xan, Jaheira left the enchanter propped against a tree and rushed over to her husband.

As for Rasaad, Arquen panicked for a moment when he didn't resurface along with Khalid, until she spotted him further downstream. The monk was hauling a fatigue bear onto the riverbank before crawling out himself. Along with Imoen, she raced over to his side. Rasaad staggered on all fours, dripping water, then blood as angry gashes poured out the extent of his injuries.

"Tell – Ja – heira – the bear – lives," Rasaad wheezed, collapsing on the ground, utterly exhausted, and rolled onto his back with seemingly great effort. "I also – fed it – fish." His wet body looked like it had been punctured in places from bite and claw marks and bruises. His left eye was already swollen.

Arquen knelt over him and placed a hand on his chest to try to calm his heavy breathing. He opened one and a half eyes to search her face. "You should not have confronted the druids on your own. Are you wounded?" Rasaad said with overwhelming tenderness. He lifted a hand, as if he wanted to caress her face or touch her lips—like what Khalid and Jaheira were doing along on the other side of the river, except with bolder public displays of affection that were making Kivan look forlorn, Xan look queasy and Coran look like he wanted to participate—but in his weakened state all he managed to do was paw at her chin like a kitten. Beside her Imoen decided to reach over to pick up his wrist and ever so helpfully propped his hand on the half-elf's shoulder instead.

"My arm's hurt—again—but otherwise I'm fine," Arquen told him, to which he smiled. She was about to copy Jaheira's move and stroke his cheek when she heard her name being called.

"Arquen!"

_Ugh, _she grumbled inside, desperately wanting to tend to Rasaad instead of her party leader responsibilities.

"Help him patch up, will you?" She entrusted him to Imoen's care and headed back up a few yards where only splintered poles from the broken bridge remained. "Okay, monk! Time to put your hands on your body to make yourself feel all better! Heh! Get it? Get it?" she heard Imoen say.

Coran was pacing the bank on the other side of the river. _"Who is wounded over your side?"_ he called over the river in Elvish.

_"I got hit in the arm. Imoen has a few nicks, but nothing serious. Only Rasaad is badly wounded. Viconia … has turned herself invisible," _Arquen replied.

At the sound of her name, even if she didn't understand anything else that was said, the drow appeared by her side.

"Oh, how nice to have you visible again," Arquen mumbled, giving Viconia a once-over and wondering where she had literally disappeared to. The drow looked perfectly unscathed. _"Looks like Viconia is lucky to be unhurt!" _she informed Coran.

_"Of course the selfish bitch managed to avoid putting herself in harm's way!"_ Kivan snapped. The ranger was sitting on the ground now, holding onto an arm and swaying back and forth, trying to stifle the pain as he tended to his own injuries. Arquen was taken aback slightly at the remark, for she had genuinely felt relieved that Viconia was unhurt, though in retrospect, she realized the drow had left her and Imoen to deal with the druid-bears on their own.

_"Anyway …"_ Coran continued,_ "now that we know we are all alive, let us see to some healing. Stay put, Blondie. None of us are up for swimming across the river anytime soon to rescue you. This is not the kind of water sport I am into!"_

"Coran! Eeeewww!"

The archer gave her a good-natured wink, then spread his arms. He fell backwards dramatically onto the ground next to Kivan. The ranger shifted slightly, no doubt feeling awkward around the man who spoke his language, had the same shape of pointy ears, with archery and hunting skills that could outmatch his, yet was loud as sin and couldn't be more different from himself.

Arquen spent another minute trying to offer encouraging smiles and thumbs-ups to her comrades on the other side of the river, but aside from Coran, no one from Team Elf wanted to celebrate surviving another battle. Then she turned to see Viconia touching her arm lightly.

_How could I forget. I am literally standing on the same side as the drow now. _

The drow had hidden her face under her hood again. When Viconia looked up, she said, "I have healed your wounds."

Arquen tightened the muscles on her arm and it didn't even feel sore. The bruise from the bullet had deflated to a little red circle. "Hey, thanks," she told her, which Viconia responded with a nonchalant shrug.

"Well, let's go check on Rasaad."

The monk had found the strength to sit up, but some of his wounds still looked bruised and in various shades of green and purple. His eye was still swollen. Imoen had draped cloth over his shoulder and was holding it against his back. When she looked up, her expression was a lot less cheerful this time around. "No more laying of hands for him today, and I haven't any potions on me," Imoen informed.

Arquen knelt down next to Rasaad again and grimaced when Imoen lifted the cloth to reveal three deep gashes that were no longer spilling blood, but needed stitching or further healing for the skin to be patched together again. If she still had a spell to spare, she would have immediately placed her hands over him. Fortunately for them, the cleric landed on their side of the river! Arquen looked up to see if Viconia had already assessed the monk's injuries.

Instead she found the drow more interested in inspecting a mushroom, squatting down to flick its red cap to see how far back it could tilt.

"Viconia! As interesting as that fly amanita may be, Rasaad is obviously very badly hurt!"

Viconia turned to her with a so-what expression. "Do you not have your own healing abilities? Potions?"

"Aren't you our resident cleric?"

"A priestess of the Dark Goddess, Shar, or have you forgotten? I have no desire to coddle an agent of the Milkmaiden or have my generous aid repaid with a split lip, which your infirmed males have a habit of doing."

Unbelievable! To think, after what happened with Xan, with half the group wanting to hang her from a tree, Viconia still wanted to be unaccommodating!

"Will you just cut out the _crap!_" Arquen snapped at the drow, whose violet eyes started to fire up in return. "Rasaad is the last person who will spit in your face, and your duty in this group is to heal whoever is wounded, regardless of personal politics. So if you want to stick with us, I _order_ you to heal Rasaad right now!"

The hard look didn't leave Viconia's face, but the drow marched over to Rasaad immediately and dropped a knee to the ground. She placed her hands over the monk and rattled off her chanting at twice the speed, as if to get an unpleasant chore over and done with. When her healing had closed all the gash wounds, she placed a hand on his broad shoulder and grabbed his wrist roughly with the other, then bent his arm.

"Has the pain subsided?" Viconia ground out her question.

Rasaad winced a little but nodded. Viconia straightened his arm again and tugged it forcefully like a rope. The monk yelped. "It is sore still!"

Arquen wanted to snap at the Shar priestess again, but held back as Viconia spat out another healing spell. Interrupting an explosive cleric didn't seem like a good idea. When Viconia finished her spell, she tossed Rasaad's hand aside like a block of wood. Then she glared mutinously as she came within inches of his face to inspect his swollen eye, running her thumb over the lower lid.

Rasaad brushed the drow's hand away.

"Enough. If this offends you, Viconia, I can wait until my abilities return," he said, looking intently at her.

Viconia appeared to be considering his offer as she peered back at him, her face still merely inches from his. This was the first time she had to heal the monk. Of course this was also the first time he was in dire need of healing and they were separated from Jaheira. Usually Rasaad relied on his own healing abilities, potions, even Arquen, and had been wise never to approach Viconia for any form of aid, advice or amusement. An unwritten healing policy existed: the drow priestess did not use powers bestowed by Shar on the Selune-worshipping monk.

When their deep-stare exchange went past the one-minute mark, Arquen turned to Imoen.

_Is it just me, or is there a lot of sexual tension?_ she communicated her thoughts in their telepathic manner. Imoen darted her eyes back and forth between Rasaad and Viconia, but tapped uncertainly at her chin.

Then Viconia let out a chuckle. Her steely expression switched to a flirty smile. "Yes, this offends me. I have never encountered a rivvil of such musculature. The surface male bodies I have explored were obese, shapeless and foul-smelling. You … frustrate my senses." She placed her hand over his eye again and this time he didn't push her away. As she chanted, she fixed her gaze on his good eye, and kept her fey grin.

_Yup, sexual tension confirmed,_ Imoen nodded at Arquen. The half-elf now half-wished she didn't force Viconia to heal Rasaad. If she had known this would happen, she would've left his wounds to putrefy!

"I mistakenly thought you were distressed due to our different paths of faith. My apologies for presuming and … thank you, Viconia." Rasaad smiled—appreciatively and abashedly—at the drow. Then he cocked his head slightly. "I just realized your eyes are the color of amethyst. I used to think they were red."

Imoen grabbed her arm to hold her up as Arquen choked on disbelief. _IS RASAAD FLIRTING?!_ Red versus amethyst (and why so lyrically precise? Couldn't he just say 'purple'?) was a much more accurate guess than when he thought her eyes were black instead of turquoise. Black!

When Rasaad chuckled at Viconia's comeback that "On my part, I just realized you are not blind", Arquen wanted to sock him in his good eye then, and again in his just-healed eye so that the only thing he would see were stars and maybe a few birds. Suddenly the deep forest around them seemed to be completely in shades of green. Even the sky was now emerald, clouds had turned to moss and the river vomited mint.

"Okay, you gotta stop this insane jealousy fit. Xan can't actually hear what's going on over here, but if you send smoke signals—smoke is coming outta your ears by the way—to him, he's gonna tear off his robes, swim 'cross the river, and end the Elven Cold War with a bloodbath," Imoen hissed, fanning both sides of her head with her hand. Arquen tore her eyes away to look across the river.

Having recovered from his wounds, Xan now stood at the riverbank, watching them intently. Arms folded and tucked into his robe sleeves. Face as blank as still water where only a select few knew of the monster that slumbered in the deep. He stood so still that they could have hung a plumb-line from him. When Imoen gave him a wave, he didn't react, as if he was staring right through her at Viconia.

"Y'know, Xan is freaking me out. How can anyone so … _old_ be that devoid of expression and stiff without being dead?" Imoen put her hand over her mouth and mumbled, so that Xan was unable to read her lips.

Taking a couple of deep breaths, Arquen forced herself into normalcy for Xan's sake. She even gave the enchanter a toothy smile, which, not unexpectedly, he didn't react to. "Maybe he is the illusion of age and wisdom? Well, I actually think this is the most animated he has been this entire morning," Arquen replied. From the way he had been drifting around like a ghost, Xan actually surprised her by participating in the fight and now stalking people from afar.

"My work is done," Viconia announced as she came closer to the edge of the riverbank. Arquen turned to check on Rasaad's condition and saw the monk rubbing the side of his neck with a hand. On his face was a dreamy smile that seemed to suggest that Viconia's healing had felt like a full body massage to him.

Arquen swallowed her rage.

Upon her charms settling on someone new, the drow casted her eyes again at Xan. Arquen wasn't sure what she was trying to achieve or prove, but Viconia pulled down her hood, letting her long hair tumble about her shoulders. Its silvery-white sheen glinted under the sunlight. Her dark skin seemed to glow as well. Viconia fingered the amethyst pendant on her necklace as her eyes flickered across the distance, challenging Xan to look back at her.

Were they mad at each other? Sad? It seemed impossible to tell, Arquen believed.

She expected Xan to return the drow's look with one of his soul-piercing stares, but the moon elf averted his eyes instead. He turned away to speak to the rest of Team Elf. She couldn't make out what he was saying at all, however the tension in his shoulders gave lie to that dull expression on his face.

* * *

><p>"So we have successfully put an end to the Shadow Druids then?" Arquen shouted her question over the river with her hands cupped around her mouth.<p>

_"We have slain a fair number of them. I will inform Seniyad of our deed when we next meet. Meanwhile let us proceed east to the mines,"_ Jaheira replied, without needing to shout because her voice was that bellowing enough. And she still insisted on speaking in Elvish.

Arquen turned to address Imoen, Viconia and Rasaad. "Alright, Team Common, now that the bridge has floated all the way to the Sea of Swords, we will have to swim across! Rasaad, are you able to swim?"

"He will be weak for the rest of the day, but he should be able to manage this last feat," Viconia answered on behalf of the man she used to flick the dirt underneath her fingernails at, and even gave the monk an encouraging smile. Rasaad grinned back at the woman he used to avoid by walking around a tree or building to get to the other side just so he wouldn't have to cross in front of her.

Arquen snatched Rasaad back to her side like a toy and gave Viconia a this-is-mine glare. "Stick close to me then!" she told him, gripping his arm so tightly his skin turned white under the pressure from her fingers.

"You will find your arm sore too, when the cold water beats against your bones," the drow added nonchalantly.

"Imoen, we'll swim on either side of him!" Arquen decided, and before Viconia could utter another comeback, she shoved Rasaad off the tall riverbank and leapt into the river beside him.

Despite the blazing summer's heat, the river was colder than Viconia's heart, and the drow was right—her left arm immediately went stiff in places and she felt herself paddling like a three-legged puppy instead of performing graceful strokes.

After spluttering about for a moment, she began treading water to check on the others. Imoen was towing Rasaad by the wrist, playfully demonstrating some life-saving technique Arquen could only imagine she would've picked up at the fountains in Candlekeep, which had the effect of encumbering him and slowing him down. The monk though seemed not to mind garnering yet more female attention. Viconia was only just lowering herself into the water by climbing down instead of jumping off the riverbank.

Hearing the laughter of her human friends lifted Arquen's mood. Whatever it was, they'd survived the encounter with the Shadow Druids. Xan, Viconia _plus_ Kivan had rejoined the group, even if they had to endure the Cold War going on. The half-elf splashed a good load of water over Imoen's head when it became obvious that her sister was being careful about wetting her hair too much. "My pink dye is gonna run out before we get out of Cloakwood!" Imoen yelped, then pulled Rasaad into an armpit tow. "That's it! I'm drowning your monk in return!"

Arquen laughed, fully expecting Rasaad to panic at the threat, or laugh along if he actually figured out _not_ to take Imoen's words literally.

Instead, the monk jerked away from Imoen, almost smacking her aside. There was a strange expression on his face as he looked up at the opposite riverbank, somewhere between horror and disbelief. Arquen circled around to see.

Team Elf had lined the riverbank in a row. Kivan and Coran had arrows trained on a target behind Arquen, and without turning back she knew they were aiming at Viconia. Khalid and Xan were on their knees with their hands extended, waiting to assist only the approved party members. Jaheira stood with a hand raised, about to cast a spell, exuding more fearsome testosterone than the four men put together.

"Turn back, drow, or find an arrow in your neck!" Kivan barked.

Viconia remained buoyed where she was, almost midway across the river, staring wide-eyed back at the elves. When she drifted forward a little, unintentionally, Kivan let loose his arrow and it whisked through the drow's pale hair.

"The next arrow will not miss!" the wild elf threatened.

Nobody doubted his words. And Coran, an even deadlier archer, had his bow pulled back.

Arquen felt her heart sinking like a millstone in the river. Viconia had angered her, but she couldn't even _imagine_ getting rid of the drow like this.

"Are you mad?" Rasaad shouted at the elves. "Viconia will get herself killed! We are so deep into the woods that it would be impossible for her to find her way out unharmed!"

"Do not be a fool, Selunite! The Night priestess would not hesitate to abandon you herself. You have a good heart, if not naïve," Kivan said. He lowered his weapon and knelt down. He offered his hand to Rasaad with an earnest look. "I will pull you up."

"We d-do not mean to part this way. B-b-but we cannot … we cannot keep the d-drow in our midst. She lured you straight … straight into a d-dangerous confrontation with the enemy, then aban-d-don you," Khalid told them next, with his nerves going to pieces at the confrontation. Even his extended hand was shaking.

"Viconia just wanted us to help fight and—" _And it can't possibly be true that she purposely set me up. Viconia just made a mistake that would've caused one ugly mess if the bears had caught me. _Arquen shook off the other possibility and the need to justify anything to prejudiced pointy-eared old farts. "—And you will let _all of us_ up, and _all of us_ will make a collective decision, without theatrics, on what to do!" Arquen said through half-gritted, half-chattering teeth. "I am the _leader_ of this group. Who died and made you my parents? Okay, that was a horrible line. Whatever! Stop telling me what to do! YOU ARE NOT GORION!"

Jaheira heaved her shoulders and closed her eyes, but kept her hand raised. After taking a few breaths, she opened her eyes again, now glassy, and said, "You _still_ refuse to listen to reason? If the only way to protect this group from harm is by forcing a decision … by cutting off the evil from us, then I'm afraid this is what we must do … as your guardians, for what it's worth."

The druid started chanting. The current rushing through Arquen's body changed. Waves appeared as if they were by the sea, crashing against the walls of the river, and a violent force started pulling her under like chains around her body as Jaheira bent the force of the water under her will. Arquen felt her arm beginning to burn as the water swirled around her ominously.

Almost reaching the other side was Imoen, who now struggled to keep her head afloat as the waves of water pummelled her towards the bank. Even Coran looked anxious as he darted his eyes back and forth between Imoen and Viconia. "Quickly, Imoen! The currents will sweep you away if you remain!" the archer cried amidst the crashing pitches of water. _"Khalid, throw them the rope now!"_

"No! I will have no part in such dark actions!" Rasaad exclaimed. He speared himself into the turbulent warping river and swam back across it.

Arquen could not believe what she was witnessing. Rasaad wasn't "walking out" on her like he promised—he was _swimming out, freestyle!_

"Rasaad! I order you to turn around now! Get back here with your moon and light! BAD MONK! HEEL!" she screeched above the howling waves, just as the tail end of a rope clapped her on the shoulder.

The river swallowed her again, ramming her down and wanting to claim her breath for its own as its body of water rose and fell. Her lungs felt like they would spill out of her nose underwater. When she finally burst back to the surface, she saw that Rasaad had already reached the other side with Viconia. Along with the force of the water whipping against him, he was straining his fatigued arms as he clung to the edge of the riverbank. It was at least four feet high and almost completely vertical. Viconia straddled the monk's back, hugging his shoulders before climbing onto them to push herself up to safety.

"Arquen!" Imoen cried frantically. "We gotta move! I've got the rope!" Her sister spluttered about as she stretched out a hand to pull her to safety, clinging onto the rope with the other. Above them, Coran had thrown down his longbow altogether and he and Khalid were waiting to haul them up with the rope.

A slab of water struck her face and Arquen felt its iciness as well as her tears sting her face. The pain in her chest felt like she was going to, literally, _drown, _from everything that was happening so fast. Left with little choice, she took Imoen's hand, then clasped the rope. When the river threw her against its wall of rocky earth, Xan reached out to her. She grabbed his right hand, then his left.

Xan held onto her with a surprisingly firm grip. As she steadied herself against the land and found her footing, she looked up. The enchanter's eyes weren't even concentrated on her or the magic storming the river! They casted far into the distance, as if he wasn't even here.

No way he could be neutral about this! Arquen choked as she pleaded with the enchanter, her cheeks warm with tears. "How could you, Xan?! We can't just cleave people out of our lives, or … or run away at every little misunderstanding!"

The moon elf lowered his eyes at her, the blue in them like a dim shadow. How could this come from someone who had been imprisoned, tortured, chained, starved, crotch-squashed, poisoned by alcohol, poisoned by spiders … Unless, of course, bad luck in romance just added a new category to his misery, and he wasn't about or ready to deal with it.

_That's probably it. But still!_ "Xan, at least talk to me! It's Viconia, and Rasaad over there!"

She wrenched at his arms to force him to look at the opposite riverbank, and finally see.

There was a flicker of recognition on his face. When he turned back at her, he sighed. Finally, he spoke, barely above a whisper. His Elvish voice fell apart a little as he told her.

_"This is why we are letting go, Arquen." _

Xan still had on his perfect mask of indifference.


	12. 12: Rasaad

"I am your oldest friend on the Sword Coast and you abandoned me?! HOW DARE YOU! You told me only this morning that you would never walk out on me! Liar! You–you betraying bald bastard! JUDAS!"

Arquen was screaming and crying hysterically in the middle of a forest, and Rasaad couldn't blame her.

"It is not right of us to abandon a friend so deep inside these treacherous woods," he tried to explain to the half-elf. On her own, unfamiliar with the wild beasts that lurked in the wilderness, surely Viconia would be mauled to death before sundown!

Arquen started grabbing whatever she could from the ground—stones, sticks, acorns, snails, clumps of earth—and throwing them violently at him.

It wasn't difficult for him to dodge to his side and bat some of the missiles away, but when Arquen turned a vibrant shade of purple from frustration, he decided to let the tamer missiles hit him. Let her rage reach boiling point, then simmer… Meanwhile, duck out of the way of large, sharp objects.

"Viconia is _not_—" A handful of earth with grass still sticking out of it struck and burst apart on his bare chest. "—your friend! DOG! Is that what your Pants Pinocchio is telling you?!"

In her fury, the half-elf grabbed a rock the size of her head and hurled it at him like an ogress. Rasaad leapt behind an oak tree just as the rock smashed into a branch with an unnerving _crrraacckk! _Leaves and acorns fell like rain. Birds and squirrels screeched in horror, diving in front of their eggs and babies to protect them.

Rasaad felt _awful._ In the river, he didn't realize how badly he would let her down by turning back to aid Viconia. All he wanted to do was… well, express how he strongly disagreed with the elves and Harpers on abandoning Viconia in Cloakwood.

"You do realize I had to swim through a _whirlpool_ to get back to you—" Arquen continued. Rasaad poked his head around the tree and widened his eyes in alarm at the sight of her advancing with her short sword drawn.

"—because I would never have abandoned you no matter how dire the circumstances—" Quickly, he moved into a defensive stance as he stepped out with his hands raised. Perhaps he could calm her down by waving the white flag? Arquen launched at him anyway and tried to slash him across the abdomen. He knocked her wrist and the inside her elbow as non-threateningly as he could.

"—unlike what you did to me, you jerk!" He darted behind the tree again when she thrust the weapon at him with all her strength and fury. The blade struck the edge of the tree and wedged itself into the thick bark.

Catching her by the arm, he pulled Arquen away from the stabbed tree. "Honest to Selune, I did not mean to upset you this much! I just wanted to do what was right!" he pleaded as she twisted about, trying to slap, kick and bite him.

When she couldn't break out of his grapple, her eyes shot bullets of turquoise fire at him instead. "You have feelings for Viconia, don't you?!" she spat bitterly. "You looovvee being seduced by dark maidens, don't you? You are trying so awfully hard to get her to like you and—"

"I do _not_ have feelings for Viconia! I DO NOT HAVE FEELINGS FOR _ANYONE!_" Rasaad cut her off just as sternly, tightening his grip on her elbow and glaring at her. Of all the things to accuse him with!

Abruptly, Arquen stopped her shouting and struggling.

A strange, bewildered expression fell upon her face. She looked as if she just got stunned by a spell. Then, just when Rasaad thought her eyes couldn't possibly turn any redder, they suddenly pooled again and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

She shook off his hand roughly and turned around and started walking away.

"Arquen? Where are you go—"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Taken aback by the outburst, Rasaad watched her disappear behind the bushes and trees. For a moment he stood there, staring into the forest, listening to the ringing in his ears. Feeling confused, and utterly useless.

He had made Arquen angry, made her cry, and now he had made her so upset that she stormed off. Although she wasn't screaming the forest down anymore, he actually preferred her spilling out her emotions, over her desire to suffer alone in silence.

_The light has dimmed. The sun is withdrawing its shine, _he lamented as he looked up at the highsun sky. Dawn had begun with good weather, but somehow this has changed.

_I seem to have made a terrible mess of things._

Sighing heavily, he set to work pulling Arquen's short sword out of the tree. When it didn't budge, Rasaad jerked the sword up and down a few times to loosen it from the bark, and noted that it was located at the same height level as his groin. Quite disconcerting, to know how violently—not to mention repeatedly—Arquen intended to plunge the blade into his body. And everyone said Viconia and Kivan were the most sadistic people in their group….

Their group, indeed… Rasaad wondered for a couple of minutes what he should do. Should he head back to Viconia and Imoen? They were probably waiting near the riverbank.

Perhaps that would be unwise. Somehow he was fairly certain that Arquen would not appreciate him paying any further attention to Viconia before things settled down. Imoen could deal with Viconia, he reasoned, and stay with her for the rest of the day if that was how long it would take to placate Arquen. Imoen could survive anyone's company with that kind and affable nature of hers.

At the very least, he also assured himself, they would be able to keep the drow safe, and there were four of them on this side of the river: Arquen, Imoen, Viconia and himself.

Everything happened so fast. One moment, he was letting Imoen have her fun splashing about and towing him across the river. The next thing he knew, the elves and Harpers were forcing Viconia back. Kivan and Coran were ready to slay the drow with an arrow if she dared follow them! However, leaving Viconia behind on her own meant sending her to certain death. They wanted her to die, one way or another.

Rasaad couldn't allow such evil, no matter how… _difficult_ Viconia could be. He _had_ to swim back and aid her to safety.

Of course, his decision had caused Arquen to be grandly upset with him.

Rasaad sighed, guilt creeping back again as he recalled how purple the half-elf's face had been in her anger. He had never seen that shade of red-purple before. Didn't only demons have that skin tone? As for that vapor of fury radiating out of her…

He decided he had better go in search of the half-elf.

* * *

><p>Arquen was wringing the water out of her tunic as she sat on a giant web of tree roots. River water wet the grass and soil around her in droplets, splashing dirt over her bare feet. As Rasaad approached, he saw a single tear making its way down her cheek, all the way down to her neck, as the half-elf sniffled and cried to herself.<p>

He felt a tug inside his chest. Arquen was a dear friend. How could he have hurt her feelings? How could he have made her cry like that?

When the half-elf saw him, she jumped to her feet. Her expression switched from sadness to a glare of intrusion. Rasaad felt even worse.

"Didn't I _clearly_ say I wanted to be alone? Or do you have a problem understanding simple Common as well now?" she snapped, holding the tunic against her body.

"I do not want you to be alone, Arquen," Rasaad told her softly as he drew closer to her. "I do not want you to even _feel_ alone, or feel like I will ever abandon you."

He reached out and tugged the tunic gently until she let him take it from her hands. He wrung the water out of the clothing thoroughly for her, and placed it over a large root to dry.

Then he turned back to her and gazed deeply into her eyes. Wanting to comfort her, to assure her that his words came from the heart. "I am sorry for upsetting you with my rash actions. It was thoughtless of me. I should never have left without knowing how it would affect you."

Arquen shied away from his gaze then. Her eyes searched the roots that grew aboveground beside him. He waited patiently for her response.

Despite her tear-stained face, she let out a chuckle.

"Your actions cannot _make_ me feel anything; same way I cannot make _you_ feel something against your will. All of us are in control of our own emotions until we are struck by a Touch of Idiocy, so sayeth the wise Xan."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. He noticed her cheeks and ears reddening. "Anyway, I actually feel more silly than anything else. Don't I look a mess?" Arquen queried, finally looking up with a bashful smile.

Rasaad allowed himself to study the blonde half-elf for a minute. Her long hair had been whipped by the mad currents of the whirlpool and her outburst of rage. He thought her hair resembled a straw-colored, wet, frayed broom, one belonging to a witch that had gone joyriding during a thunderstorm. The red veins surrounding the turquoise in her eyes made her look like she was about to have a breakout of eye herpes.

Wisdom after months of traveling with the half-elf told him that she would become hysterical again and uproot a small tree to hit him with, if he dared mention any of the above.

"You still look pretty," he said instead.

Arquen wiped her face with both hands in the same manner of a hamster and smiled, now having slight semblance to a non-crazy person.

"I'm also sorry for shouting at you and that display of _minor_ violence." She cleared her throat and gave him an apologetic smile. "I swear this isn't symptom of me being a future husband-beater."

"There is a time for everything, even anger. It is not wrong to express anger over flagrant errors. So long as you understand the difference between uncontrolled rage and righteous indignation," he told her.

It seemed like the right moment to do so then. Rasaad stepped up to the half-elf until she lifted her chin to peer up at him curiously. He touched her shoulders lightly, then slid his arms around her petite frame, and pulled her against him.

How delicate and soft she felt. Arquen sank into his arms and hugged him back. Did she draw comfort from their closeness, like he did?

Holding Arquen also made him want to do bizarre things, like comb through her long, blonde hair with his fingers, and rebraid it for her. Perhaps this unnatural desire stemmed from having a shaved head—her hair felt like silk to the touch, smelt of sunshine and flowers in the spring. Quite simply, her blonde hair _fascinated _him. Perhaps it was the vantage point he had, being a head taller than the half-elf. He could press his nose and lips against the top of her head. Or he could use her head as a chinrest.

"Rasaad?"

Arquen's voice saying his name suddenly sounded like the sweetest melody from a faraway place, though it came from somewhere just below her blonde mane. He felt her warm breath against his bare body, then her pointy elfish ear rested against his chest, like she was trying to locate his heart, which at that moment felt like it was starting a fire that could burn through his chest.

"Mm…?"

"Rasaad, can I ask you an awkward question?" Arquen lifted her face from his chest to peer up at him. Her face… so close to his. Her blue-green eyes… they _sparkled_, like stars in the ocean.

"What would you ask of me?"

"Did it seriously not come across as awkward to you to take my top away and leave me standing only in my underwear?"

* * *

><p>At the riverbank, Imoen practically jumped a few inches off the ground when she saw Rasaad return.<p>

"Ohmygods you're alive you're not castrated did another hedgehog die?" Imoen rambled wildly with her hands clasped over her mouth.

"No, she did not slam a hedgehog against a rock this time. I am happy to tell you that Arquen has calmed down," Rasaad said with a smile as he sauntered over to the pink-haired girl and Viconia.

Imoen pressed her hand against her chest and exhaled loudly in relief. "Phew! When we saw the birds flying away and heard that… that '_boom!_', we thought you or another animal died!" She relaxed her shoulders and smiled warmly at him, then at Viconia.

Although still sullen-looking, Viconia twitched the corners of her lips at him. She was about to turn away, when a sight behind him made her widen her eyes and raise her eyebrows instead. Imoen, too, stared with eyes the size of small plates, eyelids flickering, mouth agaped.

"Arquen? Why are you in your _underwear?_" she demanded.

The half-elf strode casually over to a boulder with a broad surface and draped all her damp clothes over it. "The whirlpool spun my clothes out of form and obviously it had no tumble dry ability. I need the sun to dry them."

Imoen turned to Rasaad again, and wagged her finger at his face in an accusing manner. "And you find hot half-elves frolicking around in their bra and panties completely normal behavior, and not at all provocative?" she gasped in disbelief. "Howzit possible? Have you seen a million naked girls before?"

_First Arquen, now Imoen? WHAT is this strange fascination with the naked body? _

The monk tried to say, "I am used to living in communal quarters and—"

"Egads!" Imoen cut him off. "It's a nudist camp at the Sun Soul monastery! Now I really wanna go there! But first—"

Before anyone could react, Imoen reached down to her thighs and in one fluid motion, pulled her entire pink tunic over her head.

Viconia also saw fit to strip down to her underwear in record speed.

"Woohoo! We can have a topless party!" Imoen cheered, lassoing her tunic over her head. Viconia stretched her body back with her hands behind her neck, and lifted her long, thick hair in a dramatic fashion.

Rasaad turned to Arquen, remembering her earlier question. "Am I supposed to feel awkward now?" he wanted to know.

"So it's a promise that you'll take us to the Sun Soul spa, right?" Imoen said excitedly. She perused his bare upper body (even though she knew what he looked like every day), grinned approvingly, and asked, "Ooo… do all the other monks have tattoos and muscles just like you? All of you look identical, right? Bald and big and buff and badass?"

"Shaving our heads daily is a symbol of cleanliness of body and spirit," Rasaad explained, always eager to enlighten others of his Sun Soul beliefs whenever he was given the opportunity to do so. "My brothers at the Order undergo the same vigorous training as myself, honing our bodies to martial perfection. Tattoos adorn our bodies from head to groin—"

Rasaad felt awkward just then when he noticed Viconia licking her lips, and decided to stop elaborating on the tattoos.

_Does Viconia eat human flesh? _he couldn't help wondering as he pulled his belt back up instead of showing them the tattoos of the seven silver stars of Selune on his lower abdomen.

_"_The physical differences in the women are, of course, more pronounced," he decided to share instead. "Even amongst yourselves. Viconia may be as skinny and as dark as a vanilla pod, but her breasts appear to be an encumbrance. Just now I told Arquen how she resembled an elf manikin. Standard shop size so as to be homogeneous. Being human, Imoen, you may be the largest of all in body mass, yet your chest area is fairly flat and not unlike a man's."

"Is this—is this the way he talks to you in private?" Imoen choked out her words to Arquen. She had also turned red considerably from the neck up suddenly. When he turned to Viconia, the drow had a confused frown on her face, and was cinching her fingers around her waist. Did he just say something offensive? He personally thought it was a clever observation, as clothing for the adult men in the Order only came in M or L sizes and corresponded with the male monk's height. The women, on the other hand, had complicated requests when it came to their additional garment, the brassiere. Sizes would include A, B, C, D, DD, E and F; anything larger, and the female monk would have to make her own trips to the market quarters in Calimport for customized fitting. She would also be exempted from trainings that involve vigorous acrobatic feats and running.

"You are the ones who gleefully stripped in front of him, then set him up with such a question," Arquen said with an amused grin. Which she replaced with a frown the instance she turned to look across the wide river.

"I see all our stuff."

On the opposite riverbank, their backpacks had been dumped together in a heap.

"Yeah, when we got back, Kivan and Coran weren't watching the shore anymore. Chucking our stuff is their way of saying 'good riddance', I suppose," Imoen said. She gave her sister a crooked smile and shrugged. Her voice dropped noticeably softer. "Sorry, Arquen. Guess we're really on our own here."

Arquen looked grim as she studied their packs and the edge of the riverbank where the elves and Harpers once stood, hugging herself absentmindedly. The five people they used to call their friends were really gone.

Rasaad slid next to the half-elf and reached for her hand. He wasn't sure if it would make her feel any better, but he cleared his throat and told her anyway. "I am deeply sorry if this is my fault."

She gave his hand a tight squeeze, and shrugged. "Nah, it's not you. It's…" The half-elf didn't finish her sentence. She sighed instead and let go of his hand before turning to face an unrepentant Viconia.

"I did not beg or coerce any one of you to aid me," the drow growled with a toss of her pale hair, looking haughty despite being half-naked. She glared at Arquen before shifting her disdain to him. Her glare reminded Rasaad that she didn't have a grain of humanity for him, and nothing he did could make her hate him any less.

Well, he didn't expect her to be at all grateful… did he?

Suddenly, Viconia threw her hands up in the air. "Stop looking like a wounded puppy, you exasperating man-child!" she snapped through clenched teeth before letting out a snarl altogether. "If it means wiping that pathetic expression off your graffiti-assaulted face, _thank you_ for defending me against the despicable elves! Arquen, Imoen, I _appreciate_ you evening out our numbers, even if my present company now consists entirely of rebarbative juveniles!"

Rasaad couldn't suppress a grin then. Viconia really amused him at times. He had believed rightly—the drow _was_ capable of _not_ being evil, and being above rude speech and callous action. There was also an explosion-shaped bubble over her head with several red asterisks inside.

However, for the moment Arquen still looked unconvinced. Her frown was intense and Rasaad could hear her grinding her teeth as she contemplated forgiveness. She also appeared to be looking back and forth between Viconia's chest and her own, as if doing a comparison.

Then she let out a loud, resolute breath and marched over to the drow.

The half-elf slugged an arm around Viconia's shoulder, and bumped against her chest to chest in a hesitant hug.

"Don't make me regret coming back for you!" Arquen hissed into the drow's ear.

Rasaad thought it one of the strangest sights, to see two women in their underwear holding each other. It warmed the heart.

When Arquen broke away from the truce hug, she addressed all of them, the remaining members of her party, in a serious voice. "Honestly, I do not know how the four of us are going to survive the mission on our own. We have lost the strength of four weathered warriors and a senior mage." The gravity of the loss seemed to weigh upon her form and she heaved her shoulders heavily.

Imoen sprang first to cheer up her sister. "W-ell, we could always head back to civilization. Nobody said we must go to the mines anyway. Let the Harpers and Greycloak take care of it _professionally!_ There's so much fun stuff we can do on the side. Or, we could try to convince the Candlekeep guards to let us in again!"

Although the solemn look didn't leave her face, Arquen chuckled. "They didn't let us back home the last time, and I doubt a battering ram would work either. I suppose if the iron crisis really is threatening the region, and is somehow linked to the assassins sent after me, then we… we have an obligation to uncover the mystery." Her voice grew soft, her eyes searched the ground, and her emotions wavered again. "I'm just… _afraid…_ We made that mistake going to the bandit camp with just four of us, didn't we? I'd hate to put anyone's life in danger again, and Team Elf has taken all the warriors."

"I will protect you with all my strength," Rasaad assured her. He placed a hand on his chest as a gesture that he meant to honor his word, even if it meant falling in battle. As the only melee fighter, he must do his best to watch over _all_ of them.

Viconia pointed out next, "I would hardly believe, Arquen, that any of the elves would have gain knowledge of the mines' existence if not for events linked to your name."

The drow was right. In almost all the notes they had retrieved from assassins, Mulahey's mines and Tazok's tent, Arquen's name or description would've been mentioned. Clearly someone had taken a personal interest in ensuring the half-elf's demise.

"Oh, come on, Arquen!" Imoen cajoled in a fierce tone, thumping her shirtless chest with a fist. "_I'm_ not chicken about it! How great is Team Elf anyway? You have a sex maniac; an unwashed sociopath; a pessimistic poof; a harping Harper harpy; and you can't even begin to describe Khalid without being politically incorrect!"

"IMOEN!" Rasaad couldn't help reacting to the horrible words coming out of the giggling girl, the same person who tied a pink little pony keychain to her backpack. Imoen beamed proudly at him.

Nevertheless, she succeeded in restoring her sister's confidence. Arquen gave them her lovely bright smile as she nodded.

"So, Team Common, let's do a SWOT analysis—what are our strengths?"

"Stealth, traps, divine and arcane magic," Rasaad cheerfully highlighted their strengths, none of which related to strength per se. "The sun's soul shines for us."

He caught Viconia giving him a dirty look.

"I meant the element of fire," he quickly corrected himself. "Between us, we can cast enough fire to burn down a castle and two levels of dungeon."

The drow grinned at this information and nodded her approval. She then declared in a fierce roar, "Let us harvest the rage and hatred against those wretched elves who have wronged us!" And punched the air with her fist. Her heavy breasts bounced.

That drew another gasp from Rasaad. "Our enemies are not the elves here, Viconia!"

"Darthiir are sworn enemies of drow. Are you still not convinced after this morning's events? Only Shar's hatred of the Milkmaiden and her simpering children may compare."

"Viconia!" Arquen barked at the priestess this time. "We cannot afford anymore treachery among us! I heard what you just said. For us to emerge from the mines victorious, you are not to commit anything evil in the name of religion! Rasaad is like my boy—BESTEST friend (after Imoen of course). I also expressly forbid you from propositioning him!"

"Since when have I ill-treated the egghead?"

"For one, no more insults! And no more tying his shoelaces together! No seducing, no groping, no raping. No killing, especially for fun to resurrect him! We need to be able to trust each other completely to get out of Cloakwood."

"Trust is for the foolish… and the dead," Viconia grumbled under her breath.

"No deal then! We can't afford to have another episode of broken bridges. Rasaad has sworn to protect us. Imoen and I have been behind you ever since we met. You must swear never to harm Rasaad or else we truly part ways now!"

The drow muddled over this for a moment. She folded her arms, shut her eyes and rubbed her temples, as if they were asking her to offer them one of her limbs as a sacrifice. Her eyes scanned the trodden trail leading to the collapsed bridge, the dense yellow-green of beech trees southwards. She looked up at the clouds to check the weather forecast. Using her fingers, she made some cryptic calculations.

"Very well," Viconia sighed in the end and rolled her eyes. She raised her right hand to take her oath.

"I, Viconia DeVir, solemnly swear that I shall not be the sole cause of Rasaad the Rivvil's death. From this moment onwards, I shall not extend any invitation to him on becoming my pleasure slave. Should I unknowingly witness him attacking the one-eyed purple-helmeted warrior of love, and overhear his victory cry being my name, I shall duly inform Arquen the Mongrel of his mental betrayal. I shall not attempt to fornicate, fellate or masturbate him, whether on separate occasions or one exploit after the other in a single extended session."

When Viconia finished reciting her oath, a dead silence fell. The breeze retreated to the other riverbank, tipping over one of the backpacks. As it flopped to its side, a sewing kit fell out from the front pocket, and they heard a pin drop.

"My ears have never been so assaulted in my life," Arquen groaned and brought her palms to her face.

"My ears have been _raped!_" Imoen howled, covering her ears with her hands, eyes squeezed shut.

As for Rasaad, he dived into the river, plunging deep into the cold water until it sliced through his newly-healed wounds like blades made of ice, until his exhausted limbs burned then stiffened like wood, until his lungs screamed for air, until his mind started projecting tiny star constellations in front of his face and he could no longer imagine Viconia doing everything she specifically swore not to do to him.

Except for the warrior with the purple helmet—he had absolutely no idea who this person was and why Viconia mentioned this enemy at all. He would have to keep an eye out for anyone who fitted Viconia's description.

Rasaad resurfaced only when his hand scraped the wall of the opposite riverbank. Certain that he was too fatigued and his skin was too cold to appear flushed, he hauled himself up onto the ground. He distracted himself further by dusting away the wet stray grass and soil on his hands. Thick layers of kilt, maroon and black fabric clung to his legs heavily, dripping into little puddles of water as he squelched his way across the grass.

He turned to face the river to gesture at the three women of his… _purest_ intention to check on their packs. _I am counting the bedrolls and tents and pots to make sure we still have all of them!_ He signalled with his hands. Imoen frowned in return, pulled on her pink tunic, and took it off again. Arquen presented a blank stare.

Viconia smirked.

_She knows about the sordid thoughts! _

Quickly, Rasaad continued his charade by dropping down on a knee to busy himself with shifting through the pile of backpacks. It just so happened there was an extra tan-colored leather bag with a broad base, which he recognized.

It appeared that Xan had decided to leave the bag of potions for them. _This will aid us greatly. May Selune bless you, Xan!_ Rasaad smiled at the elf's thoughtfulness. He moved on to check through his own belongings, and discovered that someone had stolen his cocoa butter soap, and replaced it with a bar of sandalwood soap that had been squandered down to the size of a small biscuit. With a strand of dark hair that had obviously stuck to it when it was wet and had now molded into the dried bar.

_XAN! HOW COULD YOU?! _

Turning against his former allies was one thing, but stealing someone else's personal soap supply? This was cruel! Did Xan really mean to cease their friendship?

Scraping at the half-buried hair with a fingernail with mixed feelings of panic (no more soap?) and disgust (no more soap!), Rasaad didn't notice the thin vines curling around his legs until they had snaked all the way up and around his boots. It was only when the sinewy vines tightened around the monk's knee that he startled.

Around him, it appeared as if his wet clothes had watered the tufts of weed and grass and instantly grew them by ten feet.

Quickly, the monk deposited the bar of soap into the soap pouch, tucked it back inside its allocated slip in the toiletry bag, replaced the toiletry bag where it belonged and secured the backpack. He then launched himself into a high jump to grab the bough of the nearest tree. As he pulled himself up, he tried to kick the creeping vines off his legs. He struggled against the ever-tightening grip as the vines magically rooted themselves to the ground.

Then he heard the familiar growl of an approaching bear. He looked about the tree and through the hanging cluster of leaves to see an almighty black beast peering back at him from the top of another bough. Rasaad let out a yell when the bear advanced and swept him off the tree.

* * *

><p><em>I do not have the strength to fight five bears…<em>

He didn't even have the strength to loose himself from the vine trap. It felt like he had just been thrown right into the centre of a spider web to be wrapped. Every time Rasaad struggled, another creeper wound itself tighter around his neck, or another limb, threatening to strangle him.

Surrendering to his hapless state for a moment, Rasaad turned his head as far up as he could manage and shifted his eyes around him. Five bears bore down on him. One bear held out its foreleg in front of its face, admiring the sharpness of its claws (very, at three inches long each). Another yawned to stretch its jaws. The animals were waiting, almost patiently, for the magical trap to dispel before attacking him.

This did not look good…

Without Kivan, without Khalid, without Coran, without Jaheira… without even _Xan_ and his moonblade, Rasaad wasn't sure who could come to his aid. The women would've ran out of spells by now. He supposed Viconia could use her sling and the sisters their shortbows, but they would require a miracle to shoot down _five_ bears. If that wasn't difficult enough, they would have to fire from across the river, or swim across it. Also they were currently wearing less protective gear than shaved lambs.

The black bear that knocked him off the tree lumbered towards him and stood on its hind legs. It hovered close enough to strike down at his upper body. He waited for the painful blow, wanting to shut his eyes but decided to stare boldly back at the animal.

And to his surprise, the bear began to shrink, fur disappeared from its body, and it transformed into a young woman. The human remained standing over him, and clawed the air in front of her like a cat shadowboxing. Her face twisted in a wild cat-like snarl and Rasaad noticed that her upper teeth had all been sharpened to canines. So too were her fingernails, meticulously filed to achieve the pointiest, sharpest tips as if to discourage nose-picking. Rasaad scrutinized her features—he would never have paid this much attention before, but after today's enlightenment from three half-naked women, he took mental notes that the wild girl had dark brown hair with a thick fringe. A dark tattoo covered one side of her face like a large eye patch. Her frayed clothes were a mishmash of leather, bark skin and animal hide sewn together.

In her hand a massive quarterstaff was flourished, which terrified him. Memories of Jaheira bludgeoning heads and caning disobedient people with her quarterstaff came to mind. Rasaad tugged desperately at the creepers, forcing his hands up towards his face in hope of using his teeth to break the vine. Only to cause plant tendrils to slice into his skin and tie his arms together.

The brunette stepped closer, now casting a small shadow over his face. She thrust the quarterstaff right over his nose and in between his arms. With a quick chant and snapping her weapon up, she released him from the plant bondage.

Still wary, Rasaad scrambled to his feet. He raised his fists and stood on his guard. His other plan against the four bears and girl surrounding him was the torching effects of his Sun Soulray. He didn't unleash it earlier against the Shadow Druids for fear of Jaheira's wrath if he accidentally fried a bear. If the bears attacked him now, surely he must be allowed to fight in self-defense, won't he? With that in mind, he called forth the sun's soul. Red flames began to envelop his body.

The girl raised a hand.

"The bears tell me you aided one of them in the river. You were once allied with bloodthirsty elven folk, but no longer. If that is true then I have no quarrel with you, male-on-heat."

Her voice… She spoke in the gentlest, most melodic voice Rasaad had ever heard. Filled with the serenity of the forest and voices of the mountains.

Hardly what he expected of a Shadow Druid. From listening to Jaheira he assumed the rogue sect to be a group of tree-dwelling fruitarians who had a penchant of setting fire to retail stores. To show he meant no harm, Rasaad extinguished the flames around him.

The bears grunted again at the woman and pointed at him.

_Are the bears sniggering?_

"The bears also say that you amused them by playing 'Catch'. You have impressive speed, and you are more elusive than a rabbit," she said next in a sweet, laughing voice.

"_Oi!_ We have oils of fire, and I am so hungry I could barbeque a bear for lunch!"

Where once he believed Arquen's voice had a silvery tone, the half-elf now sounded like a pipe organ disrupting a harp concert. The three women had made it across the river, retrieved the bottles from their possessions, and were now boldly facing the sleuth of bears with incendiaries raised in their hands menacingly.

The wild girl perused Arquen, Imoen and Viconia curiously, one after the other. "I admire how city dwellers try to commune with nature's realm in such a manner, but you ought to dress in more sensible layers of clothing." She pointed out the half-elf's goosebumps and dripping blonde hair. "Unless you were about to engage in your mating ritual?"

Arquen's cheeks pinked just as Rasaad felt his own face start to burn at the thought of copulating beside the river. _Is sexual intercourse beside a river called a 'mating ritual' because it boosts fertility?_ He started to explain how they nearly drowned in a raging river and taking off their clothes, "I am afraid it is my fault that the ladies are half-naked, wet and—"

The wild girl interposed, "Impressive! You are like a lion ruling the pride with multiple female mates!"

"That is simply absurd! Are you blind, jalil? Can you imagine _him_ with a mane?" Viconia snapped, gesturing fiercely at Rasaad's bald head.

"SOOO… you are a Shadow Druid? You aware of the, uh, altercation earlier?" Imoen piped up. She looked worryingly at the fallen Shadow Druids with empty pockets turned inside out, their corpses scattered around for the convenience of scavengers or eventual fertilizing. Rasaad noticed that one body was even chopped into bite and takeaway sizes for smaller animals. Kivan's handiwork, no doubt.

The girl nodded gravely. "I have mourned the deaths of my brothers and sisters, who fought bravely to purge corrupted ideals from these woods. May their new lifecycle be more prolific. I shall allow you to celebrate your victory over the Shadow Druids this once, as there is still a greater issue at hand."

Did druids really desire to be reborn as a chipmunk or broccoli? Rasaad found it hard to digest the wild girl's stoic expression, and such indifference to the violent deaths of one's companions. For a moment, he wondered how Viconia would react to any one of their deaths, and decided he daren't imagine it.

With anguish written all over her dirt-stained face, the Shadow Druid continued, "Evil men have been defiling the woodlands with smoke and waste, all in a futile quest for the metal iron." She picked up some wilted plants and presented them to Arquen sorrowfully. "Would you join me in my task? I would destroy these men of the Iron Throne." She waved a hand over the plants and they turned a healthy green shade and a red wild flower bloomed. She placed the plants reverently back on the ground, then placed a hand on Arquen's arm earnestly.

"Come with me. They dwell to the east within a fort."

Without the snarl and clawing, the woman looked almost charming.

And her voice… she _sang_ instead of spoke.

He could see Arquen mulling over letting the Shadow Druid join their group as a slight frown crossed the half-elf's face. "We just had an eventful morning. People we trusted turned against us…" she mumbled, shifting her eyes to the rest of them, the question evident ln her mind, _what do you all think?_

"Arquen, you may also wish to consider that, though we share the same objectives in defeating the Iron Throne, it is unlikely Jaheira will approve of this alliance," Rasaad added.

"Sure, we'll help you," Arquen immediately announced.

The wild girl broke into a big smile. "You will help me?!" she crescendoed, her eyes dancing with joy. "Let us find the men who foul our forest. Quickly!"

Then her face suddenly darkened again as she clenched her fists. "Their punishment must be swift," she continued with an ominous snarl. "We must travel east to their fort." Without further ado, the druid ordered her bears to charge ahead eastwards.

As they gathered their packs, Rasaad felt somewhat concerned that they had just allied themselves with another enemy of their former companions. Surely this decision would antagonize Jaheira further. How much more forgiveness could Arquen hope to ask from her guardian?

Then again, their main goal was to locate the Cloakwood Mines and quash the evil plans of the Iron Throne, and find out why they had a personal interest in Arquen. This Shadow Druid shall lend them the powers of the wilderness to defeat their enemies.

Without wanting to, Rasaad found himself worrying over Arquen's predicament for the 527th time since he met her. Why would the Iron Throne send assassins after the girl from Candlekeep?

He glanced over at the half-elf changing into dry underwear. Red lacy ones.

Seriously, what kind of danger could she possibly pose to anyone?

* * *

><p>"A magnificent river lies to the north, but the Great Mother tells me we must keep south of it. The woodlands grants us safe passage," their new Shadow Druid companion, Faldorn, told them as she waved at the surrounding flora and fauna. A small grove emerged before their earthen trail magically. Trees appeared to be stepping aside and casting their evening shadows to provide both shade and shield.<p>

Rasaad forced a smile at a giant spider the size of a dining table as their group marched past its web that stretched across several trees undisturbed. It twitched its furry fangs like a man whose smile was buried underneath a thick beard and moustache. Whilst he was relieved that they needn't fight another wild beast in Cloakwood so long as Faldorn was in their company, he couldn't help but think how Faldorn appeared… _more druid_ than Jaheira, if that were possible. He used to think that the Harper came across as… a little extreme in her love for nature, but Faldorn here was chatting to every squirrel and bee they encountered. More incredibly, they _chatted_ back to her! She seemed to belong here, the forest, and breezed through it like going from room to room in her home.

"Right, time to break camp! I really need to pee!" Imoen announced, tossing her pack on a decent patch of clear land where they could set up their campsite. She pulled out her Loo Bag, a small pouch she would carry with her that contained, as far as Rasaad knew, a hairbrush, soap, hand towel, lipstick, powder, hairpins, hair bands, menstrual rags, perfume, journal, gold and other 'girly stuff'.

"I really need to go too," Arquen chirped, relieving herself of her pack as well.

"I shall follow you," Faldorn added, letting her quarterstaff lean against a tree.

Even though the Shadow Druid had never set foot inside a town or farmland, at least long enough to necessitate the use of a latrine, the universal rule applied: women must _always_ go on toilet breaks in groups, for undetermined amounts of time. From little girls going in pairs, holding hands with each other in the queue, or noblewomen at a palace function, they were unable to relieve their bladders alone. It was unfathomable. "It is part of the platonic female bonding ritual," Xan explained to him when he asked once, when they were made to carry shopping bags for half an hour in Beregost. "If I needed to uncover nefarious plans or secrets between two women, this is the first conversation I would extract from their memories. Do not over-think this, Rasaad. There is no answer. This mystery has perplexed men for thousands of years, and will continue to be unfathomable for thousands of years to come."

Arquen appeared to hesitate when she threw glances back and forth between Viconia and himself. "Maybe you should stay here first, Immy," she suggested.

"No way! My bladder's about to burst, and I assure you if that happens my clothes ain't gonna smell of fresh river water!" Imoen whined, pretending to buckle over with her hands clamped between her knees.

"If you must be so insecure, why not send the monk away for his navel-gazing time? I am famished, so I shall go ahead with preparing my meal, whether you wish to share my culinary delight or not. I am offering to cook," Viconia muttered, already chucking dry grass and leaves into a tinder pile.

At the thought of preparing dinner themselves, or tasting another drow delicacy with exotic ingredients like lizard eggs, the sisters squawked "Rasaad, _you_ cook! Go right ahead!" and dumped the food sack on him. Rasaad watched them shuffle away with one final glance at him over their shoulders.

Leaving Viconia alone in his company.

He sat opposite the drow for what seemed like a long time (though not at all long for women to disappear on their toilet break), stacking twigs and larger sticks together with her to form a cone-shaped pile.

Rasaad was used to silent contemplation, clearing his mind of all the day's stresses by focusing on the mundane task in front of him. However he noticed Viconia crinkling her brow. A few twigs snapped in her grasp. She opened her mouth a couple of times like she was about to tell him something, but in the end deciding not to.

"Are your thoughts filled with shadow, Viconia?" he ventured. It didn't seem wrong to converse with the drow. After all, they were already behaving like shy children playing the same toys together. Also, she would probably never admit it if anyone asked, but there was a sense of loneliness in her.

Viconia made a face that told him, _Have you forgotten that I WORSHIP the shadow?_

"Are you troubled by what the elves did this morning? I do not wish to pry into your personal affairs but I have travelled with Xan longer than you have, and consider him a friend. I do not know what happened between you and Xan, but I hope you will forgive Xan for his actions, if they had caused any offense."

Her eyes lit up for a second, as if he had hit a nerve in her by just the mention of Xan's name. That sense of loneliness in the drow… it existed in Xan, too. The moon and dark elves bonded through this, not through some reciprocal joy in their being. Rasaad didn't know many people who had romantic relationships (Jaheira and Khalid were the only married couple he had known the longest), but he knew such relationships were fraught with complications. For them, even more so.

Viconia pondered over her answer for awhile. Finally, she let out a snigger. "To tell you the truth, I am actually impressed. I thought the frail one was going to sulk like a spoilt cat and wallow in pity. Why should I be surprised that he acted as befits his arrogant race? It only took an unrealized entanglement for him to sought my demise."

"People are not as terrible and arrogant as you think," Rasaad wanted her to know as he stuck his finger into the bottom of the firewood tepee and ignited his Sun Soulray. A few moments later, a lovely fire glowed in between them.

"I cannot say the same about drow. We are more terrible than you can ever imagine," Viconia said proudly as she moved around the campfire and closer to him to check out their rations. She sat cross-legged and started undoing little drawstring bags to root around for spices.

"Of that, Viconia, I have no doubt." Rasaad let out a soft sigh. "We have some mushrooms that Faldorn's friends—ah, those squirrels—helped us pick earlier. Is there any specific dish you would like to have for dinner?"

Viconia handed him an overdose of black and white peppercorns in the scoop of her palm and tied the potato sack with what looked like a dead knot. "Why are you so obliging to me? Are you seeking to take his place, now that Xan is gone, hmm?"

"I am not privy to whatever you have shared with Xan. To be honest, I do not need to know because it could be… unsanitary. I simply see light in you."

Viconia shot him a fiery glare and threatened him with the skillet. "_Light?_" she snarled. "That is insulting!"

"I did not mean for my words to be an insult! I—"

"Well, Rasaad, perhaps you may be interested to know that I sense _darkness_ in you."

Rasaad blinked, trying to read Viconia's stern expression. Was she telling a joke? She held the unblinking stare.

"You do?" he had to press.

"Yes. You may preach of light and compassion, but there is a part of you that desires power. The power to control your own destiny. You have never been the person in control, have you? Of your life thus far? Of your future?"

"I… I have spoken to you about my brother, Gamaz. I used to accept Gamaz's decisions without question. He was the elder. And I am grateful for the Sun Soul Order for accepting us—me, into their monastery. If you were born into the same circumstances, you, too, would have been grateful for the few comforts and opportunities that come your way."

"Ah, but now that you are no longer a helpless child and within the confines of your monastery, you could be so much more."

Rasaad couldn't help but chuckle at her earnestness. "You believe so?"

"It is not a joke. Do not waste your potential for power, Rasaad," Viconia's serious look bore into his eyes and soul. "Could it be that your goddess is holding you back?"

"I will never be seduced by the lies of Shar!" Rasaad declared immediately, nearly shouting. The very thought of Selune being his weakness… Utter blasphemy!

"You welcomed others to test your faith, did you not? I strongly believe you are intrigued by other paths available to you, just as you are intrigued by all the alluring women in your present company. My, my you really do fluster easily!"

Rasaad tried to cover his face by pretending to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. He could almost feel his face burning, as if the flames from the campfire were blowing the accusations his way.

"We're baaacckkk!" Imoen's cheerful voice rang across the campsite. She skipped over and peered at the food items in his hands. "So what's for dinner, huh?"

"Ask the male. He is slaving away so hard that his face is completely flushed by the rank of onions," Viconia remarked nonchalantly, and discontinued their discussion.

* * *

><p>Rasaad missed Xan.<p>

_This is the final night of the waning moon. Tomorrow we will no longer be guided by moonlight. _

Unable to sleep, he gazed up at the white crescent in the night sky. Somewhere else in the depths of Cloakwood, Xan must be laying down in reverie, also bathed in Selune's glow. Where were the elves and Harpers now? When they next meet, would joyful words and smiles be exchanged, or swords?

Why did Xan agree with the others to abandon Viconia and the rest of them, when he was the person who saved the drow in the first place? It wasn't like him to make some radical move to quit on a cause. No matter if it were his official duties, some fierce battle, an argument or a card game, Xan may proclaim doom, but he never gave up. His personal code would've compelled him to honor his word on supporting their mission. Rasaad refused to believe that Xan would have the same chaotic disposition as the other elves, Kivan and Coran. Kivan's hatred of drow was so entrenched that even a petty argument would only convince him to slay Viconia. Although a good-natured fellow, Coran was led by—Rasaad disliked such crude lines but he would have to agree with Xan's comment here—"what his other head thinks."

As for Jaheira and Khalid's part in splitting their group, it saddened the monk deeply. Khalid, an honorable warrior from the same Calimshan roots, turned his back to helpless women. Jaheira, who took on the maternal role in their group, disowned her ward. How could they? How could they abandon Arquen?

Just as his thoughts shifted to Arquen, he heard another squeak a few feet away. He was quite aware that the squeaking didn't come from a rodent.

Rasaad rose on his elbows and peered into the night. His darkvision enabled him to make out Arquen shifting in her bedroll. Battling her nightmare, the half-elf tightened her body, arms gripping her own head as she pressed herself against the ground, hard, as if trying to crawl into a hole for shelter that wasn't there.

She was losing the battle in her dreams. Arquen started to moan.

Rasaad glanced around to see if anyone else was aware of this. Imoen was on the other side of her sister, but snoring away, vocalizing more "XxrZrRXz" than "Zzz". Some distance away, Viconia looked dead to the world in her bedroll. Faldorn couldn't be seen, which meant it was her turn for the night watch and she was patrolling the area. The Shadow Druid may have even taken on an animal form.

Quietly, he made his way over to Arquen and patted her on the shoulder gently. "Arquen?" he whispered.

"Hhrnnh!" The half-elf let out a cry, then made a desperate lunge at him. She grabbed the front of his shirt until the monk fell against her awkwardly. He found his balance on an elbow and rested stiffly on his side, unsure what to do except to hold her. Arquen pressed her face into his chest, inhaled deeply, then relaxed. Her nightmare ended then. With a sigh that sounded like a kitten's purr, she drifted off into peaceful slumber. She maintained a grip on his shirt.

Rasaad swallowed a gulp. This felt very different from holding her in an upright embrace. This horizontal hugging position made their closeness so much more… _intimate._ Like the embrace of lovers in the night, only with Arquen sleeping through it all.

But his presence appeared to have dispelled her unrest. They had spent so many nights in campsites or shared rooms that he knew how bad her nightmares could get. Sometimes she would cry throughout the night. Usually Imoen would be the person to calm her down, cradling her head in her arms. When Xan was around, the enchanter would cast a potent Sleep spell or read from _The History of the Manufacturing of Kitchen Furniture _in a monotone, nasal voice. Even then the half-elf couldn't always get a decent sleep afterwards.

If his presence could somehow comfort her, restore her inner light and peace, then he would gladly stay by her side. Sighing, he restrained another bizarre urge, this time to put his lips against her pointy ear. (Probably because her ear was different from a human's, the same way one enjoyed scratching behind a puppy's ears, or picking up a rabbit by its floppy ears even when warned not to.) Instead Rasaad ran his hand down her arm, gently, repeatedly, like giving her a slow massage.

After some time, when Arquen's breathing settled into a peaceful rhythm, he carefully liberated his shirt by prying her fingers away one by one. Then he tucked her blanket around her until she was snug before he returned to his own bedroll.

Not even two minutes later, Arquen began whimpering again.

Not wanting to traipse back and forth across the forest ground on bare feet, Rasaad decided to shift his bedroll next to hers. No one else stirred. The only thing he could hear was Imoen's snoring medley, combined with sleep-talking about swimming in the river. "I'm a-floating…" the young girl murmured, and resumed her blowing-bubbles-underwater sounds.

After arranging his bedroll next to Arquen's, Rasaad laid on his side and stroked her arm again to comfort her. And again she immediately scooted up to him, this time infiltrating his bedroll and flopping herself over half his body. His right bicep turned into her pillow, and she draped her hand across his chest as if to hold him down. Secured in his presence, she then went back to sleeping like a baby. Defeated, Rasaad curled his trapped arm around her shoulders, and used his free hand to gently tuck her long, blonde hair back behind her ear. He gazed up at the moon again, which told him that they had another hour to go before it was time for him to take the last watch.

Tomorrow would be an entire day of marching. Faldorn told them the forest told her so. He really should try to get some sleep now that Arquen was no longer trashing about. But… this feeling of Arquen sleeping in his arms. The warmth of her body, that sweet scent of her hair, her breath and her lips against his skin as she slowly nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck….

He let out a sigh and tried to distract himself by looking over again at Imoen, in hope she would wake up and help him out. She had wriggled out of her blanket in her sleep. "Gotta get… outta wet… clothes…" she mumbled in memory of their eventful day. The next thing he knew, she was fingering the buttons that held her sleeping tunic together. No thanks to his supernatural ability to see in the dark as well as any nocturnal predator, he made out two tiny peaks protruding against thin fabric.

Petite size or no, the view sent a distress signal to his brain that there was another pair located in that cushioned space between him and Arquen. It was some primal suckling instinct, nothing to do with nakedness or buoyancy.

Rasaad averted his eyes quickly to the far side of the campsite.

Only to have the sight of Viconia. Which reminded him of her oath, of everything she swore she would not to do to him should the occasion arouse. Correction: _arise. _

He wanted to cry out just then. This wasn't a nightmare he could simply wake up from. He couldn't even empty his mind with meditating, for the weight upon his shoulder that cascaded down the rest of his body until it reached its peak felt so… _painful_. Were the fates testing him, making things so difficult? What if he failed to protect their group? What if he couldn't even get past the next hour, after which he could go prepare himself for a new day by jumping into a cold stream for his morning ablution?

_It has never been this hard…. _


	13. 13: Xan

_NOTES: As this is Team Elf, assume the elves are speaking Elvish with each other and only using Common in the presence of Jaheira and Khalid. I didn't want to italicize most of the dialogue. Room for thought: How does Khalid stutter in Elvish?_

* * *

><p>As Kivan lifted the human by his ankle and dragged his lifeless body across the patch of grassless land, Xan thanked Corellon that he was not the human.<p>

A long line of blood smeared across the earth as the Iron Throne mercenary's punctured body leaked and spurted out bodily fluid. As Kivan got closer to the mouth of the cave, the grounds around the large rock formation became more soiled. Blood, bones and bits of decomposed corpses littered the area like a holiday beach. Flies buzzed and danced in circles. Hundreds of maggots streamed over the dusty rock as they made their way to the all-you-can-eat buffet.

Xan decided to tie a scarf over his nose like a burglar. The putrid stench of rot made him want to throw up his breakfast! On his right, Khalid pulled the front of his tunic out from under his armor to cover his nose. Jaheira had excused herself altogether—aside from the smell, she didn't like the idea of chopping off a wyvern's head just so Coran could earn two thousand gold.

Since this was his hunt, the archer kept by Kivan's side as they approached the wyverns' nest. Kivan pointed out something inside as Coran held his chin and nodded. Then, together, like three-year-olds at a petting zoo, they hurled the fresh body into the cave.

An unsettling medley of sounds followed—of gnashing, bones crunching akin to chewing on nuts with the mouth open, and that slurpy sound one makes when sucking the meat off spare ribs with juicy gravy spraying out between teeth.

"I just need that one! Yes, yes, that one!" Coran gestured with his hand animatedly. So excited was Coran that he might as well be clapping his hands and jumping up and down. Together with Kivan, the two expert archers drew their bowstrings back in a synchronized motion. Their arrows flew in harmony and landed _'thunk!'_ into their target, eliciting a hiss from inside the cave.

The ranger and rogue pulled out their swords and danced into the sodden cave. There was another hiss, followed by a gurgle, then sawing sounds. Xan noticed Khalid sighing beside him. Finally, at long last, the two elves emerged with a wyvern's head in their possession.

"We have it!" Coran grinned, holding up the grotesque dragonlike head in the manner of a trophy. For greater effect, he gave it a triumphant shake to make the long forked tongue swing like a pendulum.

"Now you will aid us?" Kivan queried.

"Aye, you have my bow and my nimblest skills!" Coran declared just before he stuffed the head into a sack.

Khalid paced across the earthen trail that snaked by the wyvern's cave. An uncharacteristic, but clearly displeased and irritated, frown lined his forehead. After psyching himself up, he said to Coran, "You had no intention of aiding us if we d-did not acquire the wyvern's head?"

Coran crossed his arms with a huff. "I am not in this out of the goodness of my heart. You may have noticed that we are stuck with only one lady—your _wife._ Who has refused all my advances so far, and is, I hope you don't take offense with my comment, rather frightening. Meanwhile a _virgin monk_ is frolicking around the woods with three hot-blooded ladies and has _no_ intention of taking advantage of the situation!" He let out a loud sniffle. "'Tis not fair!"

"We now have the wyvern's head," Kivan informed, giving Coran a queer, beseeching look.

"With much thanks to your fine skills, my friend!" Coran clapped the ranger on his back with a grin. When Kivan's eyes popped with bewilderment instead of offering a smile in return, the archer withdrew from him. "And so I shall follow you to the mines."

"You have been very obliging to Coran," Xan remarked underneath his makeshift surgical mask. It was a fair observation—instead of leading them straight to the Cloakwood mines, Kivan had taken them northwards to the wyvern's cave. Although he did also say, and demonstrated this morning, that the cave was where he had been disposing Iron Throne mercenaries to give the impression that wyverns had been the ones killing the men. Like a zookeeper passionate about his work, he had also been keeping the wyverns well fed.

Kivan gave Xan a small frown and stepped towards him.

"For you, Xan," he grunted. Coolly, the ranger reached for his right hand, and placed a strip of wyvern skin into it.

The chunk of dead reptilian was still fresh pink on the inside and slimy to the feel. The blood on Kivan's hands weren't exactly dry.

"Wyvern scales are part of spell components, yes?" Kivan asked.

Xan grimaced as he nodded. He _ought_ to be feeling touched by Kivan's attempts at making friends, but this certainly ranked as one of the strangest acts of amity he'd ever seen.

A wave of emotions suddenly hit him, as well as the smell of death on his hands, and Xan started to choke up.

"I—I think I need to go to the river. Please excuse me!"

* * *

><p>As his lifted his hands out of the cold stream, Xan found himself gazing forlornly at the milky bubbles that lathered the cocoa butter soap he was holding.<p>

For the last two mornings, somewhere else in Cloakwood, Rasaad would have been washing and shaving with a bar of nearly-depleted sandalwood soap that formerly belonged to Xan.

_I forgive you for your foolishness… and I am sorry for mine also. _

Just like that, his anger and jealousy dissipated. Xan no longer begrudged the monk for prancing around Viconia like they were best friends—_l'alurl abbilen mal'rak!_—since that fateful night. He forgave Rasaad for inviting Viconia to molest him as part of a Cure Serious Wounds spell after their battle with the Shadow Druids. He would justify Rasaad's running away with Viconia as some genuine, deep, moral, human, impulsive, moon monk conviction, even though the boy was ready to leave behind _all_ his other companions _including_ Arquen (his other goddess, whether he knew it or not!) in the process.

What would have happened if Xan hadn't let go of Arquen? If he hadn't aided the half-elf and Imoen back across the river by hurling every single protection and transmutation spell he had as he stood at the edge of the river?

What would have happened if the plan to leave Viconia behind in Cloakwood actually _succeeded?_

_We are all so doomed_, Xan sighed, unable to stop himself replaying the day before yesterday in his mind, again.

Rasaad and Viconia had fled the area when Kivan fired an arrow across the river. After Arquen and Imoen climbed back up the opposite riverbank, they too fled, with fingers sticking into their ears, refusing to hear anymore of Jaheira's scolding.

"Teach them a lesson! Let them suffer for a day or two on their own!" Jaheira had spat bitterly like a long-suffering mother-of-quadruplets at breaking point. She'd chucked the Four Rebels' backpacks into a pile at the riverbank before they left. Xan didn't hesitate to leave the entire party's supply of potions next to Rasaad's pack. Obviously he didn't want the wayward ones to _die_…

But he had felt so depressed, frustrated, mystified, shocked, sickened, abandoned and disappointed over his fellow man's warped idea of 'helping' him recover from his failed romance by being _extra_ nice to Viconia.

Thus, he stole the soap. He replaced it with his own just so that even Rasaad would know without a doubt it was his doing. Was it a childish act? _Hah!_ It was the most insidious revenge he could think of, sabotaging the monk's Daily Body and Soul Cleansing Ritual! Once Rasaad had used up all the soap—and being bald and two shirt sizes bigger, he surely would exhaust it faster—he would only have the following options left:

**1.** Suffer razor bump hell by shaving without soap,  
><strong>2.<strong> Disgrace himself by borrowing soap from the women and smelling of 'Refreshing Strawberries', 'Femininity of Roses' or 'Chanel No.5',  
><strong>3.<strong> Spend every day picking mountain lilacs to make soap, or  
><strong>4.<strong> Failing to shave with only cold water, grow his hair out and grow a beard.

What Xan didn't expect was the sight of a frivolous bath product and mild cacao fragrance to hit him with a torrent of sentiment. To his dismay, he felt like a parent missing his three kids after a custody battle turned ugly. He missed them even more than… than _home._ He couldn't believe it, but he missed traveling in their company even more he missed strolling under the blueleaf trees and down the winding paths of Evereska. And he missed _her_…

_No! Stop it! Stop thinking of her! The drow played you out like a fool!  
><em>

Self-pity must've been radiating out of him, because Coran and Kivan appeared and planted themselves on either side of him.

Settling on his left, the ranger splashed water over his face with the scoop of his hands. River water, sweat, grime and wyvern blood ran down his face, which he wiped and flicked away with the back of his hand.

And that was the way Kivan washed.

"Whatever you may feel now, it will pass," Kivan muttered in his gruff manner.

_"_A strange comment, coming from you," Xan out-emoted the sullen wild elf who had been on a killing rampage to avenge the murder of his wife.

Kivan let out a hoarse sigh. "I am a married man, with a vow to be bonded to Deheriana until both our deaths," he said, and turned to Xan with his glassy stare. "You have only just developed this unwise affection for an unworthy creature. Fleeting, childish emotions. Even Coran experiences them."

Xan turned to his right to look at Coran. The archer's preening was quite the opposite of Kivan's. He whistled a tune as he used a birchwood comb to tend to that "choppy hip" hairdo of his. Coran grew his auburn hair long on the right side, and cropped the left side just short enough to let his fringe flop over his leather headband. Xan watched Coran winking at his reflection in the water.

Xan groaned with nausea. "Do not compare me to Coran, I beg you! He is a philanderer!"

Coran grinned, taking the philanderer comment as a compliment. He thumped Xan on the back. "What Kivan is trying to say is, it is mere infatuation with Viconia. Trust me, I wanted to tumble with the dark whore in the bushes too!"

Kivan spat at Viconia's name like a gag reflex.

Xan sucked in his annoyance with a sharp breath. _Why me? Why am I being punished like this? Why?_ He was formally educated. He had qualifications. His career was a 'proper job'. His family came from prestigious lineage. He filed his taxes on the first week of Ches every year. Why must he listen to relationship advice from a playboy thief and illiterate wild man?

"You do not even know what happened between Viconia and me," he retorted feebly, flicking stones at their mirrored faces in the river, watching them be destroyed as ripples.

"Care to share? How much further did you get with the drow anyway?" Coran made an incredibly obscene gesture with his hands.

"For that reason, Coran, I will never tell you."

"That is not important," Kivan said, taking his turn at the lecture. He flipped his hood over his head to conceal his far-off look. The still-morning sun pulled the yawning river towards its glow on their right, and split the river northeast and south. Even with the tributary coaxing the river along, the water remained sparkling clear, revealing the rocky stream bed. Upon meditating on the scenery, Kivan continued, "Of so many, is it only your heart that can be broken?"

Xan didn't respond. Instead he picked up where he left off before being flanked. He bathed his tired face with cold water, deliberately taking his time to avoid saying anything further to the two elves, only to be struck by the fresh scent as his hands brushed over his nose. His shoulders sank. Nostalgia flitted into his mind again. It was some creepy longing for a man who happened to somehow outdo the women in the hygiene department, plus an even creepier wish to once again see young girls eating lollipops. And, above all, a logic-defying desire to stab himself in the heart with a Viconia voodoo doll made of ice.

"I'll buy you the first wench we see! It'll curb your urges surely enough!" Coran declared. With one last thump on his shoulder, Coran bounced away. Good. At least his shoulder devil was now gone.

Kivan remained beside him. The ranger sat silently and still at first, offering only his presence. Then he took out an arrow to run his finger over its sharp point. The flicking sounds his callused skin were making irritated Xan, and the enchanter shot him a questioning look.

Kivan stopped playing with the arrowhead. "I do not wish to see my brethren tortured by an undeserving creature," he confessed with a heavy sigh, putting down his arrow. "Telling the drow to leave is vain. The next time we meet, we should ensure her demise."

Of course, only a doomed man like Xan would have shoulder devils on both sides.

* * *

><p>When Xan and Kivan returned to the rest, they found Khalid pacing the length of a log that had fallen as nature intended—by a strike of lightning and having too much weight on its backside. The Harper was babbling away.<p>

"If Arquen and Imoen come to harm, I could not f-forgive myself for my p-part in this!"

The half-elf wiped his face with a hand as if he were drenched in grime and sweat. He had worked himself up to such a state that he gaped like a fish, mouth opening and closing but with no words coming out. A couple of times, he sniffled loudly. In the few weeks Xan had observed him, he knew Khalid took his guardian role so seriously that if adoption certificates existed, he would've registered Arquen as his daughter.

Jaheira's eyelid and eyebrow twitched severely on one side, not at all pleased with having an audience for their spousal argument, but was unable to stop Khalid from rambling nor Coran from eating nuts as he watched in amusement. In frustration, she protested through gritted teeth, "The foolish children turned back on their own accord!"

This, Xan knew, was not strictly true. He had been the one pulling Arquen up the riverbank when the half-elf stirred him into a decision:

_"How could you, Xan?! We can't just cleave people out of our lives, or… or run away at every little misunderstanding!… Xan, at least talk to me! It's Viconia, and Rasaad over there!"_

_"This is why we are letting go, Arquen."_

_"I'm so mad I want to beat up Rasaad!"_

_"I will cast Improved Haste so you can catch him."_

The others had the impression that the fiery girl made the decision to turn back on her own, and that naturally Imoen dove back into the river after her sister. _Whatever._ Let the strong-willed Jaheira believe this, since she insisted on getting rid of Viconia in the first place. People like Jaheira and Kivan had already concluded that Viconia's character was irredeemable, and bullied Khalid into supporting their views, or else. Coran _delighted_ in that irredeemable-ness, for erotic purposes, and it didn't matter to him whether the drow stayed or not but he wanted to go with the majority vote (of course he lamented the loss of female company). As for Xan, the only opinion he expressed was that he didn't care about Viconia's fate. He cared even less so than Coran. Really. He had said it out loud. _"Whatever!"_

"The three of them are still young and inexperienced, even by human standards. And Viconia—she is a stranger to our _world!_" Khalid carried on, trembling with outrage. He shifted his sight to the wyvern nest in the distance; on cue a wyvern soared towards the cave ominously with the cutest baby deer in its talons. Even from this distance, Xan could see the fawn's big eyes, and what appeared to be tears of sorrow for a beautiful life cut short. The shrieks of a mother deer echoed through the woods. "What if the wyverns give them trouble too? Are you so heartless, Jaheira?"

"We did no wrong!"

"It is not always about being right! We have shirked our responsibilities! The _children_—if you must refer to them as such—d-demonstrated more compassion and c-courage in protecting their friend!"

"If they wish to befriend a drow with no redeeming qualities, then let them deal with the consequences!"

In a heroic moment of boldness, that Xan believed may never occur again for the rest of the man's life, Khalid pointed the most fearsome weapon of all at Jaheira—The Reprimanding Finger.

"YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF!" Khalid screamed. His voice struck its highest chord and stunned his wife into silence and traditional gender subservience. Her role in the group came into full realization, and Jaheira retreated to pick up the strewn cooking utensils from the ground.

Xan maintained his composure, but allowed himself to give Khalid a nod of respect. The warrior hovered over his wife still with a domineering glare. How impressive—the stuttering Khalid could actually exert his influence!

"That—was—amazing," Coran choked in breathless awe, clutching at his chest. He turned to Xan, eyes brimming with inspiration, and rasped, "I'm going to roleplay this scene with the next whore!"

Nearby, there was also a flicker of recognition on Kivan's face—two extra blinks of his eyelids—before the ranger turned towards the copse of trees. "I shall scour the land south for more guards," he mumbled hoarsely over his shoulder. He secured his longbow to his back, and fleeted into the wilderness.

Ninety seconds later, Kivan came running back.

His dark eyes were strickened with terror as he bolted towards the heathland site at top speed. Everyone stared at the ranger racing past them.

A second later, another bizarre sight burst out of the trees. A flock of random birds flew into the open like missiles. Woodlarks, woodpeckers, vultures, eagles, owls, and several species Xan couldn't even identify. The angry birds catapulted themselves upon Kivan, screeching, pecking, cawing…

Then they were hell-bent on pelting him with green and white excrement.

Jaheira abandoned her menial chores and scrambled to her feet. She whistled and casted spells furiously at the birds, all to no effect. Xan attempted a Hold Animals spell, but it seemed to bounce off the birds with a bleep. He then found himself watching the birds attack Kivan with his hands shielding the top of his head, just in case the birds decided to switch targets.

The birds circled around Kivan like a vicious tornado until finally the ranger tumbled to the ground, rolling over a few times. Viciously, they swooped down and ripped off his hood. So stunned was Kivan that he couldn't even let out a cry. Then the birds launched another airstrike—_splat!, blat!,_ 'silent but deadly!'—until Kivan and the area around him were completely splattered in bird diarrhea. With one final jeer, the birds retreated into the south again.

Eyes looked to Jaheira for explanation of this phenomenon. But even the druid was rendered speechless.

"Sil… va… nus… Did you… offend the birds, ranger?" Jaheira asked.

"I did no such thing! Someone deliberately commanded the birds to attack! They would not respond to my handling," Kivan groaned as he picked himself up from the ground. He looked like he'd just have a mud bath, except it wasn't mud. Disoriented, Kivan scooped a green blob from his hair and flicked it on the ground with a splat. The more Kivan wiped at his face, the more he smeared about the white, green and black goo.

"Kivan, I beseech you!" Xan cried, rummaging through his pack as he tried not to vomit at the sight he could never un-see. "Take this soap and clean yourself up!"

Kivan eyed the soap in Xan's outstretched hand. "Ugh. Imoen gave me a bottle of… _soap potion_ she calls 'shampoo' that I must finish in ten days. It tastes vile."

"Kivan, you are supposed to pour the shampoo on your hair!"

"Oh."

The ranger still eyed the large piece of soap in Xan's hand suspiciously, not convinced of its inedibility. With a deep sigh, Xan did his utmost best to sound neutral in the face of absurdity.

"If you are wondering why the soap is carved into the shape of a cupcake with swirl cream icing and a cherry on top, I am afraid it is a mystery that only Rasaad can answer. All I can tell you is that its design used to have a frilled base, but that has been smoothed over from use."

* * *

><p>After Kivan had disappeared to the river for ten minutes, Coran cleverly decided to take a walk to avoid the debriefing.<p>

Twice-humbled Jaheira was worried. "I do not understand why the birds ignore my speech," the druid said in a subdued tone.

Khalid had reverted to his meek countenance and was grimacing at the white paste outline of Kivan's body at the crime scene. "C-could it be true what Kivan said? That they have been sent to repel us?"

Jaheira turned to Xan. "Did you teach the girls any spells on controlling animals?"

Xan shook his head and furrowed his brows. "Impossible! If a druid and ranger cannot commune with the animals, what hope is there for me? I am a mage, not a magician, and I am certainly _not_ a zookeeper! No, as talented as she is, even Imoen cannot master such an ability at this age. Arquen needs to figure out how to train a parrot to say 'Polly wants a cracker' before attempting anything else."

When the Harpers continued eyeing him skeptically, Xan threw his hands up in the air and walked away. He wandered into a thicket to be by himself.

_There has to be an explanation for mentally unsound birds. _

The birds _had_ to be summoned by someone… Someone who shared a strong communion with them… a communion and force that Jaheira and Kivan couldn't contend with… That either had a bizarre sense of strategy, if not humor.

_Such nonsense… they scream "We the ones who put 'S' in front of 'Scandlekeep' 'and we spell how we want!"_

Xan pinched the insides of his eyes. He really must stop thinking about Arquen and Imoen! Xan shook away his thoughts and turned to glare at a random tree instead. "You stupid beech," he mumbled daringly at the light grey trunk.

As if the forest heard him and immediately retaliated for his impudence, a snowy owl swooped down on him. Xan threw himself into acrobatic roll that would've made Kivan and Rasaad raised an eyebrow. The owl screeched before it returned for a second swoop. Xan was about to dive into a bracken when he noticed a parchment in the owl's talons. He stood tall and allowed the bird fly at him. It dropped the letter right into his open hands before turning around once more to smack him on the head.

His nerves making his hands shake, Xan unrolled the parchment.

Dear Poop Head,

I hope you are enjoying the senior fellowship. You are such a **coward** for going with the grumps instead of Team Amazing. Just you wait! I bet you are already suffering fools and feeling sorry for not joining us!

For your information, Viconia thinks you should sink to the bottom of the Sea of Swords with a boulder on top of you, or get eaten by a wyvern feet first. That must mean she is already falling in love with you. You should know how she has been down in the dumps. She has been eating onions to cheer herself up. It is obvious she feels awfully bad for whatever happened and wants to make up with you, but **you** are the dummy playing hard to get and succumbing to bad influence by jaded, twisted, dull old farts when you should be listening to me! **I am the expert at true love. **

Just thought you and Auntie Jaheira would like to know that we are now more powerful than ever. We now have a Shadow Druid on our team who calls the woods her 'hood. By the time Hedwig gets this letter to you, we would have already entered the mines. I shall not divulge the details of our ingenious plans for you are no longer inside our circle of trust… only that Viconia will lead us.

Imoen

PS: Rasaad hugged Arquen in her underwear (which **he** initiated). I believe this is considered a 'declaration of feelings'. I win the bet! **You owe me 108 gold.**

Xan stared at Imoen's letter for a minute, trying to digest what he'd just read.

_"That must mean she is already falling in love with you." _Unwittingly, his heart caramelized at that line. The memories of Viconia's amethyst eyes piercing into his soul filled his mind. Xan squeezed his eyes shut and willed away the visions.

Preposterous! He swatted away the red hearts floating around his head like flies. _A drow is no creature to admire, let alone love._ Viconia was extremely proud of her wretched heritage in spite of exile. If anything it was likely she would aspire to even greater heights of evil to cling onto her loss. Only a fool would pursue her. He, Xan, would not have been able to even make an arranged marriage—one that had been prophesized by the gods, that a matchmaker gazed in a high-definition crystal ball, that both sets of parents had conspired together since his birth—successful.

No, he must bury all romantic notions of Viconia. Back to the mission at hand.

_"Viconia will lead us."_ WHAT IN THE MATERIAL PLANE were they planning to do inside the mines?! Was Imoen bluffing?! If the pink minx wanted to swarm his head with maddening thoughts, gods damn it she had succeeded!

They'd better get to the mines soon and regroup with the others. Xan started making his way westwards, hurrying across the clear but grassy terrain. His mind began to entertain itself with the wildest and worst imaginings.

Viconia. Creature of the Underdark. Perhaps she was leading the way into the depths because she could see best in the dark? But Rasaad had darkvision too, and he had always assumed the role of leaping at enemies in total darkness creepy tarsier style. Rasaad also knew how to spot traps; Viconia didn't. What if she stumbled into a pit and Arquen was dallying at the back?

The river came into sight but not Kivan. Those blasted pine trees must be blocking his view! Xan quickened his steps; he started to pant. That Shadow Druid they were with better not be stacking trees in his way or sending cretins to trip them! What a tit for Jaheira's tat!

_Is Viconia giving orders to a legion of undead to battle alongside them?_ _Oh Corellon! Please, no! No, no, no! We should never have denied them the strength of four warriors! Now they have resorted to desperate measures!_

Now Xan started running with his head tilted up, looking at the sky. There were no pigs flying around—which meant Rasaad did NOT make a romantic move on Arquen. Imoen lied about that part! But—the clouds were grey and ominous and it looked like the perfect day to die.

_I should have taken their side! I should never have left them! I abandoned the very people who rescued me from Mulahey! I ran away from Viconia AGAIN!  
><em>

When Xan neared the shore where a mass of pebbles and rocks spilled into the river, he spotted Kivan behind a granite boulder that was up to his shoulders in height. The ranger's hair was wet and now cleaned of white-green gunk. Xan even swore the ranger's skin tone appeared two shades fairer now. And four brown spots on his cheeks were actually moles. No wonder those spots never moved or change color every time Xan looked at them, unlike the other dirt stains.

"Kivan!" Xan cried, "We need to make haste to the mines! The young ones are making some mad move to infiltrate it on their own, with Viconia as leader!" He rested an elbow on the rock as he heaved over with his other hand holding onto a stitch on his side.

There was a small splash even though Kivan didn't appear to have moved. The ranger turned his head to cast Xan a sidelong glance and grunted in response.

Then Coran's head poked over the boulder with a sheepish expression. "Oh hi Xan! I was picking up the soap. It is very nice soap. The moisturizing effects make the skin more supple, you say? Hope you don't mind me using some!" He tossed the cupcake soap over the rock at Xan.

"We must hurry!" Xan barked at the two elves urgently, his mind still plagued by the nightmarish rituals Viconia could be performing to turn three innocent, chaste, gullible, sweet children evil. The soap landed on his chest and in his anxious state, it almost slipped out of his hands. When he managed at last to grasp the soap securely, Xan peered down at its reduced shape.

It must have been adrenaline or the sense of urgency then, but Xan needed all his willpower to stop himself from bursting into tears at the overwhelming thoughts of innocence lost, actions regretted, failure to achieve 81%-100% on this year's KPI, and the world crashing down when he saw the state of the cupcake.

For the cherry had broken.

* * *

><p>Even with Xan casting plenty of Haste spells, it still took the five of them a suspenseful, four-hour race across two maps to reach the fortified entrance to the Cloakwood mines. It was late afternoon when the ominous site came into view.<p>

The timber fortress was high. So high that even giants standing on tiptoes would not have been able to peek over them. Kivan duly informed that there was no chance of scaling the tall wall of tree trunks undetected. The fortress was further surrounded by a stream like an island. To reinforce the message of 'No Trespassing!', there was a huge sign in bright red and white nailed to the wall, with the drawing of a stick man with a diagonal red line slashed across him.

Cautiously, Kivan sneaked their group from tree to tree towards a wooden bridge. It had columns like a four-poster bed, and was the only way in to the fortress. Xan spied two human guards in splint mail armor, looking bored and fanning themselves with their large shields. There were no signs of a recent skirmish, or, more tellingly, smoke and fire blazing into the skies. How in the world did Viconia manage to enter the compound? Perhaps—Xan crossed his fingers—they were still outside?

"We cannot approach any closer without revealing ourselves," Kivan whispered hoarsely, tilting his head to see through the narrow gap between two trees better. "Once inside, you will find the horses and barracks. It would be wise to dispatch all the men outside before venturing further." He eyed the two guards and tightened the grip on his longbow. "Let us launch a direct assault. Unless you believe stealth serves better here?"

He turned to Xan now for advice, as did the others. Four pairs of angular eyes rested on the bush Xan was hiding in. Was he leading the frontline now? Were Arquen and the others expecting him to come? The enchanter swallowed his nerves to compose himself.

"Let me see what we are up against, and what I can do to disable the enemy before everyone proceeds," he said, keeping his voice to just above a whisper. "We must prevent them from teleporting away like Tazok, or sending out word on our assault. If Arquen and the rest are already inside the mines, we must not jeopardize their position."

"We must be wary of the Shadow Druid. Who knows what danger she poses!" Jaheira added.

"This is no time for disagreements over druidic orders! Their safety is imperative!" Khalid hissed, the second-maddest-with-worry person. Jaheira bit her bottom lip and nodded in wifely agreement.

Hovering by an oak tree, Coran smoothed his hair to make sure he looked good for the reunion with the three single women, plus the female Shadow Druid.

They decided that the Harpers and Coran should hang back under the cover of the dark ring of trees until Kivan started charging people. After Xan casted invisibility spells on himself and the ranger, he waited for a few seconds, hoping that a trail of footprints would emerge or hear the sounds of grass and leaves crunching underneath Kivan's boots. Nothing. Kivan moved that sinuously. Xan sighed soundlessly and approached the fortress.

The two guards now had their shields raised over their heads to provide shade from the late afternoon sun. As Xan stepped on the first plank, they started sniffing at the air briefly, detecting traces of skincare product as an invisible Kivan flitted past in between them. Fortunately they didn't think it necessary to investigate or sound the alarm. Xan felt his heart beating madly as he dashed past the guards.

Inside the fortified grounds, Xan hung close to the shed housing the horses. Like Kivan described, it was right next to the two-storey barracks. A couple of horses shifted about and snorted as he tiptoed by them but after a moment, they let out a nicker, presumably calmed by the invisible ranger. Xan stepped past bundles of hay to slip next to an open doorway and behind a wooden wall. From there he surveyed the compound.

Three humans were loitering around—two mages and a warrior in glinting plate armor. Although they were chatting away, they looked well-prepared for battle. Xan's fingers twitched as he sized up the mages. Those two should be the first ones to go.

"Wow, with Drasus away, it has gone all quiet," the white-haired mage in the black robes was saying. "I can hear myself think again!"

"Well said, Kysus. His yammering was driving me _c-razy!_ Oh, the number of times I had to cast Deafness on myself…" The other mage in pale purple robes with yellow trimmings fanned his ears with rather flamboyant gestures. "Those new pleasure slaves are not going to suffer from his sado-masochistic fetishes; it is his nonstop talk that will give them pain!"

Xan felt his jaw and chest drop as he realized in horror who the "pleasure slaves" might be.

_WHAT IS VICONIA PLANNING?!  
><em>

"I cannot believe the delivery of new pleasure slaves arrived when I was in the barracks for just _fifteen minutes!_" the red-haired warrior grumbled, kicking sand into the air in frustration. "Can you tell me about the beauties again?"

"Genthore, you are in for a treat, I tell you! Those pleasure slaves—the finest yet! Led by a buxom drow! You know how damn well drow are trained in the erotic arts!" the melodramatic mage said, making graceful circles with his hands for effect. "_Not_ my liking but I am sure you will find her absolutely divine. There is a gorgeous blonde elfish beauty—she reminds me of the half-elf on that big bounty actually. A fifteen-year-old—that jailbait even has pink hair!" Then seized by a bout of giddiness, he started patting his own chest. "For my refined tastes, I have a shaven man whore—no hair to get in the way!" Upon recovering from his excitement, he continued, "And, I swear I'm telling the truth, a_ poodle!_"

"The underage human is brought here to be broken!" Black-robed Kysus sighed at the memory of what must be Imoen.

"Not by y–ou," the other mage retorted in a singsong voice. "Only Drasus or Davaeorn gets to pop her cherry."

"Say, what if they were actually assassins or something? Is the man slut a burly one?" Genthore ventured, checking his long sword and large black shield, discernibly smart for a tank fighter.

"That's because you didn't hear what the drow said!" Rasaad's fan leapt to his defense. "He is the most popular male stripper in Calimport! He's covered in tattoos! Underneath his pants are even more tattoos—of seven heavenly stars!"

"Calm down, Rezdan! You can go see all the stars and star-shaped holes you want later!" Kysus raised his hand, but stopped just short of touching Rezdan. Then he turned back to Genthore. "So, from the sound of them, who'll you be having?"

Genthore tapped his chin as he mulled over this heinous choice. "The half-elf," he said at last. "If she looks like the wanted blonde, then she'd be too pretty to resist. Think I'll have one of her ears after I'm done. I want a souvenir, you know?"

"You were always the sickest son of a bitch."

Xan couldn't see his knuckles turning white, but he realized he had a death grip on his moonblade as he listened to the mercenaries cackle in laughter. Rage boiled up inside him as heard them describe the vile ways in which they were going to violate his separated companions…

"Kivan?" Xan found himself growling.

Kivan growled back beside him.

"Leave no bastard alive."

The wild elf moved to the doorway and fired an arrow into the first mage's throat. In the time it took for his body to fall to its knees and start slumping to the ground, another arrow found its way into the space between his eyes.

For the remaining mercenaries, Xan released his spell to hold the wicked men in place as he stepped out of the shed. The guards at the bridge sprang to their assistance, before Coran's arrows from the forest quelled their shouting. Jaheira and Khalid charged in to send them off the bridge and face down in the stream. Xan raised his moonblade and took a few seconds to position himself in front of the enemies, just so they could see him pointing the weapon at them for just execution. Beside him, Kivan sliced off the warrior's head with simultaneous strokes of his two longswords. Xan plunged his moonblade into the second mage.

Quickly, Xan recapped the situation to everyone, and how they had to reach the other group before any one of them risked a fate worse than falling in battle. "If they have been taken to separate chambers, we must account for each one of them! Arquen. Imoen. Rasaad," he reiterated.

Then Xan found himself adding, unashamedly. "If Viconia is leader because she means to offer herself first as part of the plan, then I must rescue her!"

He accepted the sting of admonishing eyes upon him from his brethren and the Harpers. When Kivan spoke up, he fully expected them not to ignore the other possibility. Deep down they probably even preferred if it were true. "What if the drow means to lead the young ones to danger instead?" Kivan asked, as if on behalf of all elven-blooded surfacers.

"Then I must kill her!" Xan decided.


	14. 14: Arquen

"Teeheehee."

Arquen let out the most flirtatious giggle she could muster, smiled until her jaw hurt, and batted her eyelashes at the mercenary Drasus.

"Life is pretty good here, you know? I'm getting twice the standard fee to protect Davaeorn, plus travel and entertainment allowances."

On and on and on Drasus rambled, above the sound of reeling chains lowering the lift. The ginger-haired human hadn't stopped talking since he introduced himself to the five of them. He'd related his life story since his first memory of riding a hobby horse as a toddler. How he negotiated for a salary raise with Rieltar. Even the enchantment on his boots that doubled his movement speed ("Paws of the Cheetah, this footwear collection is called!"). Arquen was tempted to clamp her hands over Drasus with a Chill Touch, preferably over his big mouth—the human looked like he had a duck's bill instead of lips! But he was leading them straight down to Davaeorn's private chambers in the Cloakwood mine. She decided to size up the mouthy warrior instead, noting the heavy chainmail armor he wore, and the morning star in his hand that glimmered with magical enhancement.

"I get my allowance every week if I am a good girl," Imoen chirped in a baby voice, tipping her head from side to side to make her pigtails bounce. Arquen squirmed inside at the disturbing way her already-very-youthful little sister could behave like an eight-year-old.

Drasus grinned at the pink-haired 'child prostitute' next to Arquen. "So I hear you premium escorts are provided with checkups every season, to keep the diseases at bay," he posed the question to Viconia standing in front of the lift with him. He turned to Rasaad, whose bare upper body appeared to be drenched in cold sweat. "I bet you have even more frequent checkups."

"Every month. I also personally see to his improvement on technique and virility," Viconia intercepted, speaking in a formal voice as if going over a business transaction.

The drow's act as the procuress was even more unnerving than Underage Imoen! Arquen seriously wondered if acting came naturally to her, or if she drew from experience of handling pleasure slaves in the Underdark. Perhaps it was wiser not to know.

For her Madame role, Viconia was the only person in costume, fashioned out of a simple, plum-colored surcoat that she somehow transformed into a cleavage-plunging dress. Imoen had tied her pink hair in pigtails and put on her fancy mage robes ("My big girl's clothes!" she told Drasus). They'd stripped Rasaad of his religious garb and accessories, stripping him down to only his pants and four "moondance" bracelets. Arquen was dressed as… herself, as a "celebrity impersonator" to indulge the fantasy of bedding the Iron Throne's most wanted enemy. As for Faldorn, the druid had shapeshifted into a dainty white poodle. Faldorn-Poodle occupied a space in the centre of the platform as she stood on four legs, wagging her tail in anticipation. It gave Viconia the chance to linger by Drasus's side whilst the rest of them huddled together in a semi-circle at the back, trying to look sexy instead of nervous.

The lift clattered and jerked some more as it descended to the fourth level of the mines. Uncertainty over whether or not their plan would succeed raced through her nerves. To stay calm, Arquen fixed her gaze on the stony walls that bordered the shaft. They looked uneven but smooth, excavated for direct access to Davaeorn's chambers.

_Operation Penetrate Mine has brought us this far… without Team Elf! _she prep-talked herself.

Finally the lift jolted to a halt. Above them a bell went _ping!_ The group followed Drasus in obedient silence, and Arquen took a deep breath before she stepped out of the lift last. Viconia strode ahead of everyone else, with fearless sashaying of her dress.

"The bedchamber is right here." Drasus gestured about with his hand like a tour guide. His eyes, however, were admiring Viconia's shapely butt, so Arquen used the opportunity to scan the area for threats.

For a place in the middle of nowhere, the underground chambers were surprisingly neatly laid out, even cozy. The long corridor to the right of the lift appeared well lit by sconces. To add color to the bedchamber, three blue carpets adorned the rough floor. A Home Sweet Home plaque hung on the wall beside the bed. It seemed to her a bit sad for Davaeorn to sleep in a single-size bed, for she'd always assumed the perks of being the leader of an enemy base to be hedonistic luxury—private chambers equipped with vibrating beds, tiger skin blankets, bejeweled chamberpots, ceiling mirrors, leashes and all—until she reminded herself that the evil slaver deserved no sympathy.

They crossed the bedchamber into the dining area, where a long wooden table could cater up to four diners but only one set of dinnerware was laid out. Barrels were placed by the wall, next to another table filled with bread and other food items. Drasus led them further through a small corridor. Arquen could hear the sounds of a crackling fire before they entered another spacious room sparsely filled with a condiment shelf, barrels, a table with unwashed dishes, and a long wooden bench.

There, they arranged themselves in front of the hearth, standing side by side in a semi-circle over a round carpet. Another mercenary in bulky armor marched in, looking none too pleased.

"The bunch of you better have a good reason for being here." He eyed all of them suspiciously, and didn't tone down his gruffness for Drasus.

"We want to see the master of the mine," Viconia spoke up loudly, not at all intimidated.

"Davaeorn doesn't like unexpected guests," he growled.

"Will you relax! They are the newest shipment of whores. Compliments of Rieltar!" Drasus explained, standing before their group and extending his hands out on either side in presentation. Arquen couldn't help but notice Rasaad flinching every time someone said the words "whore", "slut" and "sucketh sucketh five silver".

Unmoved, the guard maintained his hawkish glare as he went closer to examine them, one after the other. He couldn't move Viconia, of course, who only flattered him with a smile, before she boldly lowered her gaze to his armored crotch and back up again to meet his eyes.

Arquen batted her eyelashes at the scowling man when his attention shifted to her. "Remarkable resemblance to the whelp Arquen," he muttered under his breath. Next to her, Imoen kept on giggling even when the man fingered her pigtails. Throughout this inspection, Faldorn-Poodle wagged her tail and panted merrily. Only Rasaad appeared close to tears when the mercenary poked at his neck tattoos that consisted of a series of dots.

Ten dots along the neckline, to be precise. Every each one of which the guard was determined to touch. Beads of sweat appeared on the monk's bald head and his pursed lips started to form a zigzag line as he did his best to maintain a docile pose with his hands behind his back. Arquen chewed on her own bottom lip as she exchanged anxious looks with Imoen and Viconia.

_All of us knew the monk was going to be the first to freak out__…_

Earlier when they were brainstorming on how to infiltrate the mine, Rasaad had fiercely opposed the idea of disguising themselves as pleasure slaves. "Can't you ladies use your talents for a more edifying pursuit?" he'd roared like a preacher, and like a preacher everyone had ignored him and began plying on glitzy eyeshadow. After loosening the laces at the front of her leather armor, Arquen had accosted the monk. "Let's try to get into character… Hey, sexy! Wanna take a look at me titties? Want me to fulfill all yer dirty fantasies?… Rasaad, what do you think? Am I a fine-looking strumpet? Can you imagine me as a pleasure slave? Rasaad, what type of whore can I pass for? How much would you pay for me to sleep with you? Rasaad?" The monk had excused himself to meditate, but came back agreeing with the plan, on the condition she would not suck anyone's forefinger in such a manner again.

Just when they thought Rasaad was going to take offense with the guard's fingers as well and bend them the wrong way, the man decided to stop prodding him and turned back to Drasus. "Did you sign the delivery note on Davaeorn's behalf?" he demanded with a stern frown.

"Ah, no. Not yet."

"Good! Davaeorn will be back soon. You know what a micromanager he is. For your trouble, you may take one of them with you, but return them by EOD."

A wicked smile spread across Drasus's face at the suggestion. Since she was closest to him, he grabbed Arquen by the arm. "Now, which one of you shall I take upstairs? There are a few men who need a morale boost. One of you to satisfy a dozen." He leaned in until his forehead touched hers. His breath stank of moral decay. It took all her wits to keep smiling at him and not gag. With his other hand, he reached for Imoen.

The pink-haired girl chewed on her thumb with a coy look, but Arquen could sense how terrified Imoen was. Drasus glanced back and forth as he deliberated between them. Behind him, Rasaad's indignant glare blazed into the back of the his head. There was no need for him to freak out though—_she_ would launch into battle if he tried to take Imoen away!_  
><em>

Viconia intercepted.

The drow fished Drasus away by hooking the top of his armor with her fingers. She pulled him towards her, slapping his wrists playfully with her other hand. He let go of Arquen and Imoen, and turned his attention to the drow.

Viconia grinned at the mercenary, then purred, "Davaeorn is to have the first pick of our finest offerings. But _I_ shall come with you. There are erotic arts that only the drow can bestow." Her amethyst eyes glinted with allure.

The loudmouthed man snorted. Nevertheless, he accepted this compromise and started walking away with Viconia's arm looped around his. Just before they stepped into the corridor, Drasus turned around to address the rest of them one last time.

"Just to let you playthings know, we have a training compound where our mages are _always_ in need of more warm-blooded test subjects. I'm taking the lift back up, so the way up the shaft will be blocked. If you try to leave through the other exit, traps will fry your pretty faces. You are now at the mercy of our fine establishment. So be good obedient slaves. Davaeorn will be with you soon and I suggest giving him your best performance."

Beside him, Viconia beamed like a proud mistress and hung unto his arm.

_How in the world is Viconia going to pull this off? _Arquen couldn't help risking their cover by calling after her. "Lady Oreoporn! All of us are meant to serve Davaeorn _exclusively_, aren't we_?_ This additional service was not in the job scope!" Hopefully Viconia would reveal her plan, and hopefully Drasus wouldn't detect the pleading tone in her voice.

Viconia raised an eyebrow at her. She cocked her head in acknowledgement of what Arquen was getting at. Then she simply grinned and gave them all a reassuring wink. "You darlings tend to Davaeorn with the skills you have acquired. Pleasure with your best techniques; let the magic be explosive. I shall look into… extending our clientele."

With that, she left them behind, listening to Drasus's stories and her laughter fade in the distance.

Was the drow actually seizing the opportunity to get laid? Arquen didn't know if that fact disturbed her more than the danger Viconia could be putting herself in. She had heard of jilted people feeling suicidal, or going on a rebound after the end of a relationship, commonly by having one night stands or sleeping with their ex's enemy if they couldn't bed their best friend.

But having sex with an army of men just to forget _one _man?

_What will Xan think if he ever hears of this?_

* * *

><p>Time crawled by slowly as the rest of them waited for Davaeorn's return. They remained standing by the hearth under the watchful eye of the burly guard, but there were only so many times she could count the jars of spices on the rack (eight jars, and Davaeorn was running low on cinnamon sticks). After five minutes, Arquen plucked up the courage to ask, "When is Davaeorn coming back exactly?"<p>

The perpetually-frowning guard unfolded his arms and marched over to her. He leaned down to cast his shadow over her. "Very eager, aren't you, half-elf?" he growled. Yet he seemed more amused than offended by her query. His eyes ran over her features from her elaborate blonde braids down to her short leather skirt.

"Let's just say he won't be back before I have had my turn."

He leaned even closer and ran his rough fingers up and down her cheek.

Arquen found herself balling her fists with her palms itching to unleash a barrage of magic missiles. The guard's fingers made their way down to her throat, spreading as he demonstrated how he could easily strangle her with one big hand. He grinned when he felt her swallowing. Then the fingers moved even lower, towards her chest…

A moment later, before she could fire off a spell, the man's body lay splayed on the floor. His head was still facing her but his jaw had snapped open with a what-the-fuck expression and his body had twisted all the other way around, like he was wearing his plate armor back-to-front. His arms were bent like pretzels. Smoke sizzled from his body.

Rasaad rubbed the back of his hands together to extinguish his Flaming Fists. After shooting one last glare at the dead man, he gave her a sheepish look.

"I'm sorry, Arquen. I could not allow his filthy hands to touch you. I–I—"

Flushed, he stopped talking and stepped up to her instead. With his hands he began dusting the parts of her body where the guard had touched her. Although borderline compulsive, Rasaad's fingers were gentle as they brushed her cheek. An altogether different kind of heat surged within her… the opposite of the outrage and disgust that the guard had invoked. Her breathing hitched as Rasaad's fingertips stroked down the sensitive skin of her neck.

The monk told her a few days ago that he didn't have feelings for anyone, but surely he must consider her precious, for him to have twisted another man's head 180 degrees for pawing her! Was he feeling jealous? Overprotective? Also, she wondered, _Does he like touching me?_ Surely Rasaad must realize what a big show he was making in front of Imoen and Faldorn's curious gazes, running his hands over her skin without reservation! She felt the tips of her ears burning when his hand swiped over her left breast twice.

Then done dusting her body, Rasaad turned around to kick the round carpet back in place with his boot. It'd shifted a few inches to the right when he killed the man. Then he dragged the guard away, glancing for a moment at the bright fire in the hearth, and decided to roll the body under the table instead. He pushed a barrel in front of it so that it wouldn't be easily spotted. The hearth room reassumed its original state; albeit slightly tidier when Rasaad picked up a tankard that had tipped over and set it back upright on the table.

"W–ell, at least Davaeorn's bodyguard is down…" Imoen coughed and cleared her throat loudly. She rubbed her palms together, and pointed at a chest by the opposite wall. "Wanna check out _that _chest?" she asked.

"Boss? Hey, Boss? I thought I heard some noise…"

A wide-eyed human in black and green robes appeared at the doorway. The dark-haired mage didn't look any older than herself. He scanned the room, then rested a suspicious gaze on the table at the far end.

The hidden corpse twitched and flopped its hand into view.

The mage clapped his hands over his face and shrieked in panic.

All of them leapt into action and chased the young man down the corridor.

* * *

><p>"Please don't kill me! Please, oh please, oh PLEASE!"<p>

Wow. Who knew a poodle could look and sound _that_ terrifying! Faldorn-Poodle snarled at Stephan with fury dripping down her fangs. It soaked the piece of cloth she had tore off the mage's sleeve. Her rabid poodle eyes indicated that any body part that could fit inside her canine mouth would be viciously ripped apart. A small puddle formed between the mage's slippers.

"I'm just his apprentice. I swear! I don't know anything! Okay, I know a little, but I am only his student! Honest!" Stephan begged as he tried to insert himself into the bookshelf, in the arcane history section.

They had chased Stephan from the hearth room to the library beside Davaeorn's room before Rasaad tackled the mage and Faldorn-Poodle sank her teeth into him. Cornered, his eyes shifted wildly from Faldorn-Poodle to Arquen's bitch glare. "I can… I can help you! Yeah, I can give you information! Ask me something! Go on, ask me anything!" Desperation filled his voice.

"What was the purpose of this installation?" Arquen demanded.

"The mine? Um, I…" Stephan took a few breaths to calm himself down before he coughed out the details. "I think they were going to try to look like the saviors of the day, riding in with their stores of iron to equip the troops or something like that. With the bandit raids and the rumors about Amn, the Iron Throne figured that the Dukes of Baldur's Gate would think they needed arms and ore quickly in case of Amnian attack. They… they figured they could get exorbitant prices or better yet, sanctions against competitors and an easing of trade laws for themselves only. A quick way to install themselves as a underground power on the coast. That's all I know about it, I swear!"

_The Iron Throne again!_ Arquen rubbed her temples at that name. The only thing about iron she had ever been interested in before she left Candlekeep were the contraptions she used to get rid of wrinkles on her dress, and the ones to curl or straighten her hair.

She imagined a world without iron, of unruly hair and shirt collars that curled at the edges…

"The iron shortage! Who is behind it?!" she demanded, refusing to allow such a nightmarish world to come to pass.

"Who is behind it?" Stephan parroted. "Um… well… the Iron Throne, I guess. Davaeorn ran this place for the regional bosses in Baldur's Gate. They used some strange potion to taint iron already stored, used Mulahey to keep new ore from being mined, and had the bandits raid any incoming trading caravans. It doesn't take long for perceived shortages to embellish real threats." Suddenly strickened by fear again, he dived under the large study table and barricaded himself with the chairs. From there, he howled, "You know all of this if you are the one who killed Mulahey. Can I go now?"

Imoen approached, pink pigtails bouncing fiercely as she slammed her fists on the table. "Nope! No way we're lettin' you go yet! You're gonna tell us first what Davaeorn's weaknesses are!" she bellowed. "Rasaad, show Stephan here what you will do to him if he dare lie to us!"

Calmly, the monk bent over and snapped off one of the chair's legs with less effort than it would take for him to break a baguette in half. In true manner of badassery, he flipped over the broken leg and replaced it under the seat upside down.

Stephan squealed like a caged pig.

"I will not lie to you I swear! Davaeorn is adept at teleporting all over the place. He also casts fireballs, lightning bolts, mage armor, protection against normal missiles, mirror image—"

He raised a trembling finger and pointed to the right of the doorway. "There are a bunch of traps out front. Never ever trigger them as you'll be hit by nasty skull traps. And battle horrors will be summoned. Those disembodied soldiers don't exist anywhere else on Toril!

"Davaeorn wears two layers of enchanted robes he has magical bracers too he carries a quarterstaff!"

Arquen rolled her eyes at the apprentice mage who was shaking so hard from fear that he sent tremors across the furniture. "Get out of my sight, weakling!" she barked.

"Oh, thank you thank you thank you!" Stephan rambled as he scurried out of his hiding place. He prostrated himself before her. "I promise not to get involved with people like this again, no matter how good the fringe benefits are! Yes, ma'am, I'm reasonably sure I will be careful from now on! Thank you, goodbye."

Stephan then chanted a teleportation spell, with uncontrollable bouts of sobbing in between the words.

* * *

><p>The puddle of urine that was beginning to make the library smell assured the group that Stephan had gone for good instead of alerting the guards.<p>

They decided that Faldorn-Poodle would wait for Davaeorn in his bedchamber whilst the rest of them hid elsewhere to ambush him. The druid climbed on top of the blue blankets and sat patiently, panting and scratching behind her ears with her hind legs from time to time.

Arquen and Imoen lined themselves up at the long corridor next to the bedchamber. From that position, they could accurately fire missiles at the fake Burberry super nova pillowcase before retreating to the treasure room at the other end of the corridor. Rasaad disappeared into the shadows, waiting to pounce on the mage.

As the countdown towards the confrontation began, Arquen's anxiety grew. Cold drafts of wind whispered down the long corridor. The ceiling and walls seemed to creak and groan. Her legs began to waver under her. "What happens if we can't defeat Davaeorn, Immy?" she asked.

Imoen patted her arm, sensing her distress. "If we do end up as slaves, Xan will come to our rescue. In fact I'm preeetty sure he's already on his way, casting every Haste spell he's got. Betcha he can even _sense_ that Viconia has been separated from us," she said confidently.

_Xan._ At the mention of his name, Arquen sighed in memory of his patented trait. Xan, the elf who was secretly on Team Common's side. He had _always_ been on her side, Arquen realized. Xan just… had a bizarre way of expressing his support, like how he would say "This will be the death of me!" to every major decision and choice of breakfast menu. He'd urged her back to the other side of the river but didn't follow her. Above all, his feelings for Viconia had to be real, that's why he ran away from the drow.

In terms of years he was obviously much older than Gorion; however the absence of wrinkles and grey hair had always made Xan seem more of a friend than a senior to her. He was as patient as Gorion when it came to teaching her spells, and no one in Candlekeep even recognized Imoen's talent let alone nurtured it like Xan. Was that why Imoen felt so certain about Xan coming to aid them?

Arquen turned to see her sister smiling innocently back at her.

"You sent word out to him, didn't you?"

Imoen only grinned wider as she bobbed her head. Whoa, the pigtails with pink ribbons and that necklace with beads in all colors of the rainbow really made her sister look immorally young!

Arquen gave her a half-hearted scowl. "I'm not sure if I like the sound of the Harpers and elves coming to save the day. Faldorn got the woodlands to slow them down for us to execute Operation Penetrate Mine," she grumbled. _"I don't know what your birds can do to convey our presence to Team Elf. Give us a head start and make them feel like shitheads," _she'd told Faldorn earlier. "I really want us to beat this whole thing on our own."

"That's the thing, Arquen. We _can't _do this all on our own. We _need_ other people. Dontcha think a solo run is _boring?_"

"That sounds like a lecture for those aged two hundred years and above, _not_ me!"

"Shh!" Imoen ended their debate with a sharp hiss, just as they heard a loud sound like a spark of lightning coming from the bedchamber. In the centre of the room, bright flashes of magical energy formed into a large circle. Then a man stepped through the portal.

_Davaeorn!_

Just as Stephan described, the mage donned two robes for seemingly double protection. The outermost layer was pale green with a tanned-colored cape, which clashed horribly with the other black-and-red outfit that peeked out at the collar, cuffs and hemlines. They caught a glimpse of his white hair and beard, indicating he was a man who was well into his senior years.

Davaeorn marched over to Faldorn-Poodle, who started beating her tail against the pillow and tilting her head in a curious "rawr?"

"Rieltar relocated to a 'western noble estate' in the city and where have I been seconded for the last three years?" he complained to the animal, which carried on wagging her tail and panting in delight. "To this _mine _that was underwater once upon a time! Is this their way of forcing me into early retirement? Now they send me a _pet _for my mid-year bonus?"

He began to shrug off his robes anyway. Arquen and Imoen readied themselves, slowly whispering the incantations to cloak their bodies in magical armors and skins. Like setting a trap, they had to time everything right so that Faldorn wouldn't get hurt and they'd defeat Davaeorn quickly.

When Davaeorn was down to his impossible-to-be-enchanted pantaloons, Faldorn-Paldorn rose up on her hind legs. Her panting twisted into a vicious growl as she bore her fangs.

She leapt at Davaeorn with such violence never expected of an animal that looked like giant cotton balls glued together.

The startled mage threw his arms in front of him in defense. He had yet to take off all his accessories, and the magical bracers he wore prevented Faldorn from sinking her canine teeth into his arm. He fought against the poodle's digging paws and gnashing teeth and, incredibly, managed to fling the poodle away from him.

Faldorn-Poodle let out a yelp as she hit the floor hard. In that moment, Rasaad materialized from seemingly out of nowhere, attempting a dropkick at the mage.

But just as suddenly as Rasaad appeared, Davaeorn vanished. The monk let out a cry as he nearly landed on the druid.

Seconds later, Arquen heard the man shouting from the treasure room. The two sisters raced over to find Davaeorn howling over his things. When they looted the room earlier, they had overturned the chests and safe deposit boxes.

"Why have you come? Is it to steal my riches or perhaps you seek to righteously punish me for my affront to your morality?" He glared at them, still seething over the fake poodle. He rested his hand on a chest that had been left open… just as Arquen had hoped he would.

The weight of his hand triggered the little spring she had placed and the trunk slammed on his fingers like a clam with a vendetta. Davaeorn let out another howl. He raised his hands over his head and created four mirror images of his raging self. Five mages wagged their fingers at her. Arquen and Imoen held back their spells to let him finish his speech.

"It matters little, for you will do neither," the mirror images snarled. Then they pulled their shoulders back with as dignified a pose as identical quintuplets in pantaloons could possibly strike. "Before I dispose of you in some horribly gruesome manner, perhaps I should introduce myself. I am known as Davaeorn. I would ask you for your names, but I care little to be acquainted with the dead."

Incredible! This egotistical man didn't even know who she was! Wasn't the name 'Arquen' supposed to be famous by now amongst all Iron Throne members?

The offended half-elf unleashed magic missiles to take down the mirrored bodies as Imoen began chanting to dispel the other magical protections he was created. A flash of grey zipped down the corridor as Rasaad sped past them like an arrow aiming for Davaeorn.

He delivered an uppercut that sent the old man airborne. Alas, Imoen's spell didn't remove that Stoneskin of his, so Rasaad's impressive punch only produced a rainfall of debris. When the two men dropped back down to the floor, Davaeorn teleported away again before Rasaad could land a foot on his ribcage.

A loud crack erupted from the other end of the corridor, back at the bedchamber. Arquen turned around just in time to see a lightning bolt shooting out of the mage's raised hands. "Die, insolent whelps!" he screamed.

"Lightning!" she yelled, and dived out of the way. Imoen's reflexes were not as quick. The bolt sliced through her sister with a sizzling sound. Imoen's legs buckled under her and she crumpled to the floor.

"Immy!" Arquen cried.

Faldorn hurried over, now back in her human form. Imoen's body emitted sizzling sounds when they rolled her onto her back. In those few seconds, Imoen's pink hair had also gone from straight to frizzy. Her mouth was agape with shock.

After feeling around the girl's neck, the druid declared, "She will live!" Without offering a healing spell, Faldorn gripped her quarterstaff in both hands and ran off again. Rasaad had already disappeared around the corner in pursuit of Davaeorn.

Arquen pulled her sister back to her feet. "We better spread out!" Imoen said in a trembling voice, recovering from the aftershock. Arquen breathed a sigh of relief though it worried her how easily Davaeorn could've take them down.

But this was no time for worry. Together they raced over to join the scuffle now taking place in the dining hall. Just as they arrived at the doorway, Davaeorn summoned a gnoll in between him and Rasaad, effectively blocking the monk's path.

In retaliation, Faldorn summoned a dread wolf on the other side of the dining table. With an animalistic howl, the druid commanded it to action.

Only to be intercepted by a hobgoblin that appeared on the dining table with his boot in the bread basket. The hobgoblin leapt off the table, bringing his halberd down on the wolf's head.

Then a brown bear appeared in front of Imoen and Arquen, knocking them out of the dining hall when it stood to attention.

At the same time, a mustard jelly slugged off the condiment shelf.

Six seconds later, the underground community of cockroaches scurried out of crevices, cracks and food containers, and charged towards Davaeorn.

"Your feeble skills are no match for my magic!" Davaeorn screamed from the other side of the room, and unleashed a fireball.

This time both the sisters managed to dive to either side of the wall opening as the flames blasted all the way into the bedchamber, hurling Faldorn across the room. The druid rolled over a few times when she landed on the floor. Arquen scrambled over to help but the druid waved her away. "Air polluter!" Faldorn growled as she slowly recomposed herself, not at all daunted by her singed skin. She crawled forward on all fours for a few feet, then lifted her chin, and snarled. Her teeth grew into fangs and her being transformed into a bear.

The three of them ran back into the area to find a room full of roasted monsters and animals. Arquen's heart leapt with tremendous relief when she saw Rasaad shifting underneath the gnoll, wreathed and protected by a ring of fire of his own making.

"Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha!" Davaeorn shrieked in the manner of a true maniac in the distance.

"Weirdo!" Imoen hissed as she kept her eyes on the corridor ahead of them. Faldorn-Bear bounded into it fearlessly. Rasaad stood and rolled his shoulders back, cracking his neck muscles at the same time. Then with a determined exhale, the monk sprinted towards the direction of the maniacal laughter. Arquen followed, careful to maintain a distance from the others to dissuade Davaeorn from letting loose another lightning bolt or fireball.

The mage had another plan in store for them though. Down the hallway, a bigger, _badder_ monster came into view.

"Tremble before the might of my sorcery!" Davaeorn roared, and disappeared to let the monster deal with them.

This must be the battle horror Stephan mentioned. Such a horror it was that it didn't need a body; just a plate mail, helmet, bloodstone ring (to accessorize), Detect Illusion scroll (tucked under its disembodied arm) and sword with a blade of flames. It floated over to Rasaad and Faldorn-Bear, its battle cry being the _tonk-tonk-tonk _sound effects of hammer against anvil.

The battle horror made Faldorn look like a giant teddy bear that didn't know how to fight as her paws did little to wound it, whilst its blade seared into her. When Faldorn-Bear retreated to drink a healing potion (despite the situation, a brown bear drinking a bottle of blue potion looked as adorable as it sounded), it turned its attention to Rasaad, the person making dents to the back of its plate mail.

To aid the melee, the two mage-thieves fired several magic missiles. Explosion sounds and repeated blasts staggered the battle horror. The flaming sword wobbled in the air. Then it let out its thunking roar again and redoubled its effort to slash at Rasaad. It wasn't easy with the way the monk was ducking and spinning about, but when it _did_ manage to slice the monk across his torso, if the sword weren't made of fire, it would've cleaved the man in half!

_Someone will require resurrection if we don't take down this monster soon!_

"We can try to dispel it!" Arquen barked at Imoen, moving back to cast her spell. She had managed to dispel summoned monsters before! Although of course… the difficulty level for dispelling celestial badgers was probably _a lot_ easier than dispelling battle horrors.

"Sure but you're gonna dispel Rasaad's doughnut of fire too!" Imoen replied with a worried tone. They looked at the monk slamming his fists against the battle horror to no effect; the monster only taking damage whenever it scored a hit at Rasaad and the monk's ring of fire threw back flames.

_Selune, you wouldn't allow the irony of your worshiper being slain by fiery light, would you?_ Arquen said a little prayer to the Moonmaiden before she casted her spell. The flames around Rasaad disappeared.

So did the fiery blade in the battle horror's hands!

The monster looked down at empty air in front of its armored sleeve and uttered a questioning "tonk-tonk-tonk?"

Now it was down to the might of fisticuffs! Rasaad let out an uncharacteristic smirk as he brought his hands together, cracking his knuckles. This was where the martial artist reigned supreme! With a roar, the monk charged at the battle horror, rammed his elbow into it, and started pounding into scrap metal. The rest of them watched Rasaad turning a set of armor into modern art sculpture in delight.

"You meddling fools! Your victory shall be short-lived!"

Davaeorn reappeared and squealed. Since the battle horror could no longer hack and slash, he fired a bolt of lightning right through it. Because the speed of light in whatever sense had to be greater than lightning bolt, Rasaad managed to flip out of the way. Arquen dropped to the floor as well, letting the lightning bolt zip over her head. Only the monster collapsed in a pile of iron.

Davaeorn should be out of Level 3 spells by now, she discerned. If he had scrolls, he'd probably left them behind in his discarded robes, and he didn't appear to be carrying any magical wands. She turned to Imoen who had rolled her body against the wall.

"How long do you think his magic bubble is going to last?" she asked.

Imoen wrinkled her forehead. "One more minute?" she estimated.

They could lure Davaeorn into a trap, Arquen supposed, and render him helpless. She ran over the idea with Imoen.

"How're you going to set a trap in the heat of battle?" Imoen asked.

The solution popped into both their heads at the same time, and they exchanged grins. "Web!" they chorused excitedly, before adding, "that Xan can't cast!"

"You go tell Rasaad to play bait. I'll fill Faldorn in!"

Arquen hurried over to Faldorn-Bear stomping about, and patted her grizzly head to get her attention. The shapeshifted druid turned to her with a look that said, _Isn't it weird for you to pat me on my head?_

"We're going to lure Davaeorn into a chase until his magical protections expire, or hit him with a spell to hold him in place. Whichever comes first!"

Faldorn-Bear snorted before she transformed back to her human self, nodded humanly and spoke. "A fine idea!"

Glancing back at the corridor, it appeared Imoen had already gotten Rasaad to run laps from the hearth room to the dining hall. Together with Faldorn, Arquen ran back to the bedchamber. There the druid took her place outside the library, whilst the half-elf returned to the long corridor leading to the treasure room.

From the distance, she heard Davaeorn shouting. "Hah! Your girlish sorcery is no match for me!"

That meant Imoen had casted her Web near the dining hall without success! Arquen cursed under her breath. Wasn't Web supposed to be one of the most useful spells?!

Like a stage magician, Davaeorn materialized just outside the treasure room.

Quickly, Arquen chanted and tossed a spit of spidery filament until it grew and spread from thread size to a giant mass of gluey tendrils, stretching across the corridor and giving the place the appearance of not having been dusted for years.

Instead of getting trapped, Davaeorn vanished. Again.

Arquen gritted her teeth as no more ideas came to mind. If she had choked up this passage and Imoen's web had covered an entire room, then they may be contained in a smaller area. The sharp crack of kitchenware smashing drew her back to the dining hall.

Hurrying back, she came upon the sight of Faldorn wielding a bundle of leek. When the druid finished her chanting, she flung the vegetable at Davaeorn. As it sailed through the air, the leaf blades grew into a monstrous net and ensnared the mage. Davaeorn tried to fight against the elongated leaves, only to have them wrap around him like a green rope and pin his arms to his sides. If the leek trap wasn't enough, the carrots and celery were even more vicious.

Arquen wished she had her shortbow with her then, to shoot down the entangled mage. But it wasn't necessary. Faldorn transformed back into a bear, and lumbered up to Davaeorn, whose feet were tied together by carrot top. The macabre scene that followed would resemble the making of a well-balanced diet of vegetables and shredded meat in red sauce. Arquen found herself covering her face with her hands, listening only to Davaeorn's howls before he fell silent under the sounds of bear jaws crunching. The vegetables then slithered away and reassumed their harmless, nutritious appearance.

When Arquen finally lowered her hands, Faldorn's swift punishment against the Iron Throne had been dealt, and they had defeated the Master of the Mine.

* * *

><p>"Eww! Look at the stains! Why in the world is Davaeorn hoarding a three-year-old letter?"<p>

Imoen held up a letter with awful crumples, tattered edges and suspicious brown blotches.

Davaeorn,

I have received your request for extra slaves. They will be sent as soon as possible. Events go well in Baldur's Gate. We have purchased one of the western noble estates to use as our base of operations. It is an ancient building, most likely constructed before the erection of the second wall. Its construction makes it very defensible against those who would thieve it. Remember to ask Yeslick if he enjoys his new accommodations.

Rieltar  
>Alturiak, 1365<p>

As Imoen dared her sister to sniff the worn parchment, Rasaad remarked, "The building mentioned to is indeed a construction that appears impenetrable. I have passed it a couple of times. There was always this aura of shadow about it." The monk shook his head with a deep frown. "The more we uncover, the more evil the Iron Throne sounds! Some of the slaves have been kept here for years!"

Arquen perused another letter, a more recent one just over a year old according to the date indicated (Flamerule, 1367). The parchment was only slightly soft around the edges. It told of Sarevok's arrival at Baldur's Gate from Ordulin, and Rieltar's plan to place him as the commander of the mercenary forces in the region. The letter confirmed Sarevok was the person giving the orders to Tazok to go to the Wood of Sharp Teeth.

_Hmm…_ Loud-mouthed Drasus didn't mention Tazok's presence in Cloakwood. Hopefully that meant the half-ogre wasn't here. Arquen _really_ hoped not, for he almost killed Kivan at the bandit camp! With the camp destroyed, Tazok may have regrouped with Sarevok. According to the letter, the Iron Throne had also placed their first agent among the ranks of the Seven Suns trading coster last year.

Another place in Baldur's Gate she would have to investigate, Arquen told herself as she unrolled the third letter, the latest one.

Davaeorn,

As you have probably heard, the iron poison has begun to take effect around the coast. With the majority of iron imports being disrupted by Tazok, almost all of it comes from the tainted source in Nashkel. The Sythillisian uprising in Amn has ensured that no forces from that nation will be able to take action against our mercenary forces. However, the Flaming Fist has caught several of the Blacktalon mercenaries. All of those captured have claimed allegiance with the Zhentarim and have thus shifted any suspicion away from the Iron Throne. I have sent Tranzig to work with the mercenaries in transporting the iron to your base in Cloakwood. He has brought several bags of holding so that he, alone, will make trips into Cloakwood, thereby lessening the chance that Flaming Fist trackers might find your stronghold.

Rieltar  
>Tarsakh, 1368<p>

"Aww, we didn't get a bag of holding off Tranzig!" Imoen mewed at the information, remembering the mage who said "ya" instead of "you" more often than herself. It was because of the confrontation with Tranzig that they received their first warning for anti-social behavior at Feldepost's Inn in Beregost. Arquen recalled how Minsc pinned the man's arms behind his back, Rasaad punched him in the solar plexus, Xan used the words "mutilate" and "sausage" in the same sentence, and Tranzig confessed that he was the messenger between Tazok and "a fat priest named Mulahey."

Arquen put down the letter and rubbed her temples. So many details, yet no answers. Just names of enemies. Rieltar. Tazok. Tranzig. Sarevok, again and again.

"Remember Tazok's prisoner? He said the Blacktalon and Chill were led to believe that the Zhentarim were behind the iron crisis too," Imoen helpfully reminded her sister of information gleaned from the bandits. She wasn't sure if she appreciated the uncomfortable thought of the Iron Throne's ambition to outdo the Black Network in terms of evilness.

The half-elf let out a sigh of frustration. _From Nashkel to a bandit camp to a hidden mine to the big city. _"Sounds like a trip to Baldur's Gate is next on our itinerary," she told the rest.

"Cities are a blight upon the beauty of nature!" Faldorn growled fiercely, shaking her fist, surprising no one.

"But before that," Arquen added sharply, "we have to rescue Viconia and get out of Cloakwood, alive."

As if repeating her own thoughts aloud, Imoen asked, "How? Drasus said the lift's out of bounds."

"Let's try the other way."

Together the group made their way back to the corridor next to the hearth room. Like the other corridors, it had walls carved straight. Unlike the others, it appeared to lead to a dead end.

When Arquen squinted her eyes at the stone wall, a purple light appeared to cover it like a rectangular block. An illusion!

She was about to walk over and dispel the illusion when Rasaad put his hand up. After everyone's footsteps came to a standstill, he put a finger to his lips. Perking her ears, Arquen made out faint, buzzing sounds in their path. Then a sharp harpsichord sound as the intricate trap revealed itself.

'Heavily trapped' was an understatement.

"High-density laser sensor grids. Corridors in enemy strongholds always have them," Rasaad philosophized, gesturing at the thin red lights criss-crossing thirty feet down the hallway. "Contact with the beams will sear the flesh, and I sense more battle horrors will be summoned. We do not know how many. Unless you are able to dispel their weapons again, we will be overwhelmed."

Arquen set to work examining the walls and floor, getting down on her knees and running her fingers across dust and grime to locate a hidden switch or wires she could snip. There were various burnt marks on the wall, evidence of Davaeorn's passion for fireballs and lightning bolts. However she found nothing that indicated how the trap was being powered. Imoen's skills fell even shorter. The only person who could figure out how to disarm this trap was Coran, and the rogue "with _very_ talented fingers" was with Team Elf.

"Tis beyond my skill," she sighed as she stood back up. "Wonderful. We killed the big boss but now we can't get out. I've got one more Dispel Magic to cast, which should take out the battle horror."

"_Buuuut_ if there are _two_ horrors, _and_ a fireball explosion, we'll all be taking the dirt nap," Imoen said wisely, and shook her head. "Nope. Bad idea. We should wait for Xan. He'll come." She nodded her head vehemently. "He will. He _must._"

Somehow, Arquen couldn't convince herself that Team Elf would come for them. Surely Jaheira must be furious with her, knowing they now have a Shadow Druid in their company. She didn't know who Kivan actually cared about, although _everyone_ knew who he _despised._ Since none of them said "yes" to sleeping with Coran, there was no reason for him to reunite with them. Khalid might care, but nobody cared about what Khalid thinks. So that left Xan in charge of the rescue party. Would the elf really come? Would he rescue Viconia, again?

"I dare not imagine what danger Viconia could be in at this very moment," Arquen fretted. Neither did she dare to imagine the _pleasure_ Viconia might be enjoying. "Faldorn, we are out of spells for summoning fodder monsters. What about you?"

"I cannot call upon nature's allies anymore today. Nor can I take on another form," Faldorn informed, shaking her head.

Then Rasaad spoke.

"I can handle this trap."

Arquen turned to look up at the monk, whose eyes were narrowed on the web of searing-red beams. His fists balled in determination by his sides.

"Rasaad, remember that time I asked you to pick up a banana peel on the floor, and you sprained your ankle? I'm sorry to say this, but monks _cannot_ disarm traps."

Those lines threatening to etch themselves as new tattoos on his forehead told her how he was being completely serious.

"I am not going to disarm the trap, but traverse it. I can get to the other side!" the monk insisted. "What choice do we have if we want to find a way out of this evil place?"

"Alright, alright, I hear you!" Arquen patted him on his muscular arm to calm him down. Rasaad turned to her and his expression softened.

"Regardless of what I think, it is important for me to know this," he added in a gentler voice. "Arquen, I made a promise to you—I will only leave your side if you say it is all right. Do you wish me to take this path, find Viconia, or stay?"

She peered up at the tall monk, and that earnest look in his soft brown eyes made her feelings suddenly go haywire. Her hand was unable to let go of his arm, and her thumb moved on its own, tracing his solid bicep.

_He is keeping to his word!_

He really, honestly, wanted to put her feelings first! Arquen felt her chest go _flutter, flutter,_ as if Rasaad had just reached into her and squeezed and reduced her heart to pudding.

She swallowed. She didn't want to let him go (her hand was still fondling his arm). Didn't want him to leave the three of them here without a fighter. Didn't want him to get himself cut down by a battle horror. But… Davaeorn was as dead as medium rare steak, and his chambers appeared to be left undisturbed… and Viconia might be in all kinds of trouble. If Viconia got herself killed, that would mean the priestess had sacrificed herself for their mission. A selfless act that, from general knowledge, was unexpected of drow.

Again, Rasaad would be running off to aid the drow, but somehow it felt different this time. She didn't feel like he was betraying her. Those paranoid thoughts she used to have of him leering at another woman's body had also ceased, ever since the day she, Imoen and Viconia had stripped off their wet underwear in his presence, and he had been more interested in Faldorn's deforestation debate.

"Return safely with Viconia, okay? Our mission is not complete without _all of us_ leaving the mines alive, together," Arquen told the monk, and surprised herself when she realized that she meant it.

Rasaad nodded. "I will return to you soon," he promised, gently prying her hand from his arm.

Faldorn stepped up to the monk. "Walk with rage against all who threaten the Great Mother, alpha male," she said in her soothing voice. "In your absence, your mates will rest to regain our spells."

Imoen marched over next and jabbed Rasaad repeatedly in the chest. "If you die, I will _never_ forgive you. Ever! I'll go to the Monastery of the Moon myself and tell _all_ the monks, all your friends and teachers and students, that Rasaad yn Bashir 'moonlighted' as a gigolo! I swear I will!" she threatened, with heavy emphasis on 'moonlighted.'

Rasaad gulped with a horrified expression as he turned to face the treacherous path ahead of them once more. His eyes shifted around as he mentally calculated the space between the laser beams. When he had figured out his route, the monk kneeled down and closed his eyes for a moment in prayer.

Then, with catlike motion, he crept forward.

The monk started traversing the laser trap by first gliding across the floor on his front. After crossing under deadly grids barely one foot high, he stretched his body upwards like a cobra before flipping himself through the narrow gap in between several beams. That was followed by a barrel roll at a precise angle. Next, he glided his leg over a waist-high beam and rotated his body on the ball of his foot gracefully like a ballet dancer. Then he spun on his shoulders. At one point he did a full split. There was an intense moment when he rolled onto his back and flipped straight up to a standing position, for he misjudged his position by an inch and a laser beam burnt off a line of hair from his forearm. Still Rasaad pressed on, until he reached the illusionary wall and propelled himself through it with a handspring, finishing the feat with a soundless landing.

Arquen held her breath in suspense throughout this acrobatic performance.

She also couldn't help but marvel at the monk's butt.

Having taken off the kilt that normally draped over and hid the back of his lower body from the world, his black pants hugged the contours of his rear, hinting at gloriously toned gluts. The monk didn't skip about with a lanky frame like elves, yet he also wasn't bulky like Minsc. Heaven was so real—his sculpted body possessed the perfect density of flesh and the vision of him bending over in slow motion made Arquen's head swim with giddiness. Twice she had to consciously stop herself from reaching out with her hands to squeeze the air in front of her.

Having successfully navigated the hazardous maze, Rasaad disappeared into the distance to save the drow.

For several moments, Arquen stared ahead of her in a hypnotic state until she felt Imoen poking her side. "You okay, Arquen? You look like your mind's miles away."

"Uh… ah… was thinking, that's all." Arquen shook off her highly inappropriate fantasies and refocused on their predicament of being stuck in the enemy underground base. "I hope Rasaad finds Viconia quickly, and we can get out of this dank hole," she mumbled.

Faldorn, honest and bold as ever, said, "Impressive flexibility and posterior. Such were my thoughts. Mating with this man promises the enhancement of one's breed."

Gods! The druid _seriously_ needed to know the appropriate timing and place for certain thought processes, and how some matters should be approached in a more civilized manner!

Then again, Arquen realized she might as well be telling herself that.


	15. 15: Viconia

_NOTES: Terribly late update! I hope you enjoy this! _

* * *

><p>"—and so I used her head for a puppet and made it say it over and over while we drank large amounts of mead!"<p>

Impressive. The human Drasus hadn't stopped talking, even as he stood _before_ Viconia's beautiful drow form. She was lying on the cot in his private quarters, with one knee raised to hint at the alluring ebony flesh underneath her dress. However, he was happier to boast about the fourteenth courtesan he'd slept with in some seedy establishment called Low Lantern in Baldur's Gate.

A convenient delay, she supposed. This should give Arquen and the others more time to kill Davaeorn… _if_ they could kill Davaeorn. None of the four surfacers had lived past a quarter of a century—Arquen, Imoen, Faldorn and Rasaad were practically _children._ They'd require a miracle to slay such powerful enemies, which the Iron Throne certainly were.

Meanwhile… Viconia got to have sex.

"—I would say that is good. My party members here think that is good! Those are the votes that count!" The drow shifted her attention back to whatever Drasus was saying—which again was nothing important—before returning to her own thoughts.

_Why am I here, doing this? _she couldn't help wondering again.

Was it some sense of loyalty to Arquen? So the half-elf forgave her for all the trouble she'd caused in Cloakwood but childish sentiments aside, why should a noble drow such as Viconia DeVir care about the orphaned, scatterbrained mongrel and her even flightier human sister? At least when Xan was around, they rode on the glorious association with a Greycloak and a powerful enchanter.

Viconia snapped out of her thoughts when Drasus finally got round to taking off his clothes. She grinned and tucked her legs under her, sitting up in anticipation. Come what may, she decided as she watched the muscular human fling aside his mail hauberk. For now she should try to elicit some pleasure out of the whole situation. Until—

"I'm all ready! Let's have at 'er!" Drasus bellowed, striking a pose with his hands on his naked hips.

_BY ALL THAT IS UNHOLY, THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!_ Viconia gaped at that butter knife he called his longsword. What sort of pleasure could she hope to derive from _that?_ Even her fingers could stretch further! Viconia forced a seductive smile as she placed her hand on the human's hairy chest.

But instead of caressing him, she froze him with a Hold spell.

Drasus stood rooted to the spot with that ridiculous wide grin on his face and come-hither stance. Slipping off the cot, Viconia picked up his enchanted morning star and, swinging it overhead with all her might, smashed his face in, delighting in pulping his platypus-like mouth. Drasus's body fell backwards like a stiff plank with a two-inch nail sticking out in the middle. She pummeled his face and body some more, until the only means to identify the hired swordsman was through his little dinky.

Although killing was second best to sex, Viconia was satisfied with her workout. She then rooted through the pile of clothes tossed around the bed. Drasus's boots, which he earlier told their group was called Paws of the Cheetah, turned out to be so dainty in size that they fitted her perfectly. So it was true what humans said about men with big feet… or in this case, extra small! Surveying the sparsely furnished room, she raided the cupboard and found a mace and dagger that she could carry.

Done looting, Viconia opened the door slightly to peek into a long, empty corridor. According to Drasus, it was tea-time for the Blacktalon guards. Opposite Drasus's room was a door that led to the Chill hobgoblins' quarters, but someone had painted a big red hexagon with a white, somewhat spatulate, handprint inside the middle. Drasus also told her the demi-humans normally kept to themselves and didn't come out to mingle with the Blacktalons, in spite of team-building exercises like creating posters of their 'dream fortress' out of crayons and colored paper together.

The drow made her way down to the entrance chamber. When she came by earlier with Drasus, she counted seven Blacktalon _and_ Chill guards waiting at the bottom of the stairs, but now all that was left were a bunch of wooden stools scattered around two tables and a half-finished chess game. She paused to listen for the presence of any guards. Hearing nothing, she made her way upstairs.

* * *

><p>At the top of the stairs was the jailer's chamber, and to her right a dimly lit passage led to the prison cells. Viconia pinched her nose at the smell of human waste that trailed into the area. "We dump the wayward miners here!" Drasus had mentioned. There was no jailer or guard about, presumably away on his tea break as well.<p>

As she crossed the chamber, a voice called out sharply to her.

"You there, wait!"

Viconia stopped and looked towards the cells. In the first cell, a near-skeletal human pressed his face against the iron bars, staring at her with pleading, sunken eyes. She decided to approach slowly, unsure if it was wise to do so, but hoping they could give her more information about the mine.

In the cell opposite the human was, to her surprise, a dwarf. At the sound of her approach, the short one stumbled out of a pile of straw and poked his nose between iron bars as well. The bearded fellow looked up at her drow form but didn't recoil from it. "Oh, a fine sight are you, whoever you are! Sick to death of bandits, I am!" he said, almost too gladly. He eyed her body again but instead of her fetching dress, his gaze rested on the mace in her hand.

He pointed at the weapon. "I have been cooped up the longest time, but if you've a spare mace, I'd gladly swing it for yer cause. I can do things cleric-wise as well, so I'm mind as well as muscle." He cast his eyes on the walls surrounding him, all scratched with tally marks, then his voice drifted away with his own thoughts. "By Clangeddin, a chance to right past wrongs!" he whispered to himself. He narrowed his gaze at her again. "Can I join you?"

Viconia considered this unlikely ally; this stocky, shaggy dwarf prisoner whose mind seemed a little off balance.

"Yes lick the way out! Yes lick the plug!"

"What did you just say?" Viconia turned to the human with a snarl. Only when the man added "Tell her how to destroy the mine, Yeslick!" did she realized the dwarf's rather tragic eponymous name.

"This is my mine that the blasted Iron Throne has stolen. Well, they were my clan's home 125 years ago. Curse me for a fool, I trusted them!" Yeslick began, his face reddening with anger underneath all the hair. His chestnut hair had coiled into natural dreadlocks, even his beard. "Years ago that blasted Rieltar gave me a good trade smithing for the Throne, and then I go and tell him about my old home! About how my clan had the richest iron mine on any coast, and how almost all were killed when we breached a riverbank."

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head at the memory. Viconia thought she heard a rattling sound, but couldn't be sure. "Lost most my kin in that flood. Those of us that survived couldn't bear to go back down. It was a giant watery tomb, and we left it the way she stood." Yeslick sighed. "So I go and tell this to my 'friend' Rieltar, and he has me chained up! He tortures the location outta me, and now this graveyard feeds the Iron Throne as they bleed the coast dry."

Then he looked at Viconia with raging eyes. "If you want to cripple their plans, help me flood this accursed mine once more! They plugged the breach, but knowing hands can loose the flow! We can drown these black-hearted rats in the very mine they've stolen! Here be the way!" He pointed towards the jailer's chamber, at a wooden wall-mounted key holder.

If this dwarf had the power and knowledge to destroy the entire mine, she should take full advantage of his abilities, shouldn't she?

Gingerly, Viconia retrieved a ring of keys with clear labels that stated 'Cell 2.01', 'Cell 2.02', 'WC' and so on. She unlocked Yeslick's cell and handed him the mace, before turning to the human.

The bony man in loincloth watched her sort through the set of keys intently. "Tell me I'm right. Aren't you one of the mercenaries who've been causing the Iron Throne so much trouble?" he asked.

"Yes, I am," she said. "How did you come by this information; you look to be one of the Throne's slaves?"

Despite his hollow face, the man smiled brightly. "Good!" he exclaimed, bouncing on his feet as he left the cell. It was amazing that his bones didn't crumble under him, judging by his protruding ribcage. "My name is Rill, and I'm the de facto leader of the slaves here beneath the Cloakwood. I heard about you, because I'm always careful to listen to what the Blacktalons talk about. It seems that the Iron Throne has placed a large price on the head of someone named Arquen…"

The shrill _brrriiinnngg_ of a recess bell startled all of them.

Rill spoke quickly. "Enough introductions, we don't have much time. I need 100 gold. The captain of the Blacktalons on the first floor is not known for his loyalty to the Throne. If you give me the money, I'm sure I could bribe him to look the other way, while I escape with the rest of the slaves. After all, most of the Talons are going to be preoccupied with you. Well, how about it?"

Thoughts raced through Viconia's head.

First of all, she didn't have 100 gold on her.

Secondly, why should she help the slaves? The _humans?_ Who were weak enough to be captured and brought here?

What would Arquen do?

She'd immediately hand over the requested gold, Viconia supposed, and even help with escort the slaves. For that was what do-gooders did. Come to think of it, Xan would do the same as well. The Greycloak would not have tolerated so-called injustice.

But she was not Arquen, and she was certainly _not_ Xan…

"Well, I—" Viconia began, only to be interrupted by a prisoner from the last cell. The man had just woken up and was beating the iron bars with his hands. He wailed, a little too loudly, "Guards! Guards! Andarsson's speaking ill of Davaeorn—"

"Faber! Shut up!" Rill hissed, hurrying over to calm him down.

The slave Faber paused for a moment, confused by Rill standing outside. He gripped the iron bars with trembling hands, as if delirious or drunk. He looked at Rill, then at the now-liberated Yeslick, and finally rested his wild stare on Viconia. His eyes widened at the sight of her. "Wait, you're no guards…" he squawked in horror, before he retreated backwards.

He screamed at the top of his lungs. "Aaaah—Guards! Guards!"

Viconia only had a second to exchange panic looks with Yeslick and Rill, before Blacktalon guards appeared. Annoyance at having their tea break disturbed was evident on their faces. Some were still chewing on biscuits as they shuffled into the chamber.

One of them nearly toppled his teacup over the saucer when he pointed her out. "Isn't she one of the new pleasure slaves? _Yeslick?_"

"Yes oh yes!"

"I'm referring to the _dwarf!_"

Yeslick let out a scream and charged at the guards with the mace over his head.

"Eeeeww no way!"

"You idiot! Kill the dwarf! Grab the drow!"

Yeslick swung his mace with the full force of vengeance, shattering a guard's knee. He spun around to headbutt another guard in the ribs like a bull. Teacups overturned, saucers shattered, and biscuits flew out of hands.

And then, the Blacktalons overpowered him.

_This is not supposed to happen! What was I thinking, wasting precious time humoring slaves! _

Viconia tried to flee, desperately dodging to the side and twisting her way out of gripping hands. In the midst of all the shouting, crowd of humans and broken tea sets, Yeslick unceremoniously fell to the floor. The dwarf died before her eyes, with a prolonged "Eeaarrgghh!" Without righting his past wrongs.

Viconia struggled some more, but there were too many guards.

The next thing she knew, half a dozen men descended upon her. Hands assaulted her, everywhere.

* * *

><p>"Hahaha! Strike her again!"<p>

"Pathetic! I thought drow enjoyed this kind of thing."

"Viconia!"

Half a dozen voices. Half a dozen men so far. How many more to follow?

_"Viconia!" _

Wait. Her name. Not "cursed race", not "dark bitch", not "drow". Someone was calling _her name_.

Viconia strained her right eye open. Her left eye could only throb. An earlier blow to the side of her head had been deafening… blinding… All that pain in her body… it tore apart one's senses.

Yet another male climbed over her. This male who knew her name was bare-chested. A pair of black eyes _from_ _his chest_ stared at her as he reached for her hands tied above her head. Viconia gritted her teeth and waited for the thrust, the stabbing assault.

When nothing happened, Viconia blinked her good eye. He was not actually mounting her. And those black eyes were actually symbols of Selune. Freakishly tattooed on the male's chest. She knew only one person in this world with such hideous body art.

"Moon child?" she rasped weakly.

Rasaad cut the belt that tied her hands to the top of the cot. Her arms ached as she brought them back to her sides, sitting up after what felt like an eternity of lying on her back. Her body felt sore all over. The mattress was wet underneath her—_soiled,_ with blood and sex. The stench and scum of human males clung to her mantle.

Rage grew inside her. Damn Iron Throne bastards! Damn herself for letting them overpower her! This was not like the Calishite caravan nor the random misfits she had encountered on the surface, whom she'd always managed to manipulate into mutual gratification.

Viconia looked up to see the moon child with the complexion of a ghost. He opened his mouth to speak, but gaped speechlessly for a few seconds.

"They violated you!" he finally choked out.

As if she hadn't realized. "Must you always state the obvious?" Viconia snapped. "Fetch me something to wash this filth off!"

Rasaad stared at her for another moment before he obediently retreated. As he flounced around the room, the priestess set to work mending herself.

"Barbaric humans!" the drow cursed through her teeth, to avoid letting out an undignified groan as Shar's healing glow, welcomed though it was was, _burnt_ her sensitive, torn flesh. Why couldn't the males let her demonstrate her skills in the erotic arts instead of… plunging in with brutal force?!

Not that the humans' actions were at all depraved, she supposed. Drow committed worse in the Underdark. But the men seemed to derived both pleasure and disgust from her race. She recalled, hazily, the mercenaries' insults. _"Pathetic! I thought drow enjoyed this kind of thing."_ Their mocking laughter. Some of them just needed their release, having been cooped up in this foul mine for so long. Others… she touched her swollen cheek, seething as she casted her next healing spell. Her breasts and arms were bruised from rough grips and twists. Her thighs had been clawed apart. The only thing they managed not to spoil was the magical amulet she still wore, Xan's gift to her.

Rasaad found a pitcher of water and a rag that one could only hope was at least half-clean. He spilt water on the floor as he tipped the pitcher over to wet the cloth, his usually steady hands shaking. Wanting to be helpful, he pressed the cloth against her thigh. It came away stained red and with scum too thick to be sweat or saliva. The monk dropped the cloth like it was on fire.

For that Viconia frowned. "What is the matter with you? I thought you have seen a million women naked before?"

The monk spoke in a strangled voice again. "It is n-not that! I am just—I failed to find you before this evil happened!"

The drow snatched the cloth from him and started wiping her crotch. "If you are here," she was more interested to know, especially with the body of a Blacktalon guard slumped on the floor, pants around his ankles, "does this mean you have fell the master of the mine?"

"I cannot believe how vile, how wicked the men were!" Rasaad choked as if he hadn't heard her, his entire body trembling now. "No lady should ever be subjected to such a horrifying experience!"

_How naive,_ Viconia sighed to herself as she climbed off the bed. After all the healing spells, where there were once bruises, there was now tenderness. Still she hobbled from that dull soreness between her legs. Yes, there was definitely going to be some discomfort for awhile. Otherwise she felt restored, with enough strength and plenty of rage to carry on.

"How so was it horrifying? Did you expect sexually starved soldiers not to ravish the first piece of flesh they stumble across?" Viconia asked as she sifted through her clothes strewn on the floor. She lifted up the torn fabric of her dress, which had been ripped off when the guards first dragged her into the room. Unsalvageable. She put on her underclothes, then pulled the dead guard's shirt over her head. It looked ridiculously oversized on her, but it'd have to do. If Rasaad could run around shirtless, she could well run around without trousers. Fortunately, the Paws of the Cheetah were still intact.

All this while, the young man stared at her, his mouth open, facial tattoos elongated to reach the extent of his dropped jaw. She almost expected to hear something fizzle and short circuit inside his bald head. If his idiotic stare wasn't pathetic enough, she heard a sniffle when he drew breath.

"Rasaad, as you know, I have higher opinion of a spastic donkey than you. But if you start crying, I shall think of you even less than a—"

Her threat was interrupted by loud rapping on the door.

"Are you quite done with the drow bitch? There is a queue!"

Rasaad snapped out of his traumatized expression and shifted his attention to the door. "The guards have not yet realized that Davaeorn has fallen!" he told her.

"How did you get in here undetected?" Viconia asked as she tightened the guard's sword belt around her waist and secured a dagger to it.

"Those _dogs_ are… waiting their turn in the chamber to the right. That was how I knew you were in here." He swallowed at the memory of the things he'd overheard. "I stayed in the shadows and found another passage. But we cannot delay any further. Not without arousing suspicion."

Viconia chuckled, in spite of all that had happened. "So, bald hero, how do we flee this place?"

"We must get you to safety. Regroup with Arquen downstairs. They cannot get past the traps but we will figure out an alternative. Do you recall the entrance to this floor? There is a smelting chamber next to it. Go through it, and down a long passage, then make your way through the forge." Rasaad moved by the door and fingered the latch before turning to her. "I will create a diversion. When the guards are distracted, make your escape. Ready?"

The use-monk-as-bait strategy had always been effective in distracting their enemies away from the rest of their party. Viconia wasn't sure if it would work without a wide open space, but what choice did they have? She patted the dagger on her hip and nodded. Rasaad threw the door open.

"Hey!" a brute exclaimed from outside, "You're that male whore they brought in earlier!"

"Pay for your sins!" Rasaad roared.

"Oh, how much gold for a—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the monk slapped the man like a shortchanged whore. He leapt into the corridor and with a blast from the palm of his hands, set fire to the queue of mercenaries. Loud shouting and punches ensued, before Rasaad lured the men into chasing him down the corridor.

When the sounds of the commotion trailed off, Viconia poked her head out the door. The corridor was now deserted except for the bodies of two lifeless guards and several of their knocked out teeth. She turned right, heading the opposite direction Rasaad had gone, back to the entrance chamber of the third floor.

'Regroup with Arquen downstairs' was supposed to be the plan, but as she passed the scattered tables and stools, Viconia glanced at the stone slabs leading back upstairs, then at the shut door in front of her that led to the smelting chamber.

If Arquen and the others were trapped below, what would be the point of regrouping with them? Now that she knew they couldn't leave the mine, it made even more sense to carry on from where she was interrupted, and find another way out.

Again, Viconia made her way upstairs on her own.

* * *

><p><em>Miserable, sniveling bastards!<em>

In silent rage, Viconia eyed the slaves Rill and Faber. They were on their knees, scrubbing what must be the dwarf's blood off the floor.

As far as she could tell, there was no one monitoring their cleaning task; rinsing brushes and rags with Yeslick's remains into a bucket was enough to ensure good behavior. They also spotted fresh, pink lashes on their bare backs, in addition to their blistered skin and numerous scars.

It was the humans' fault that she had been captured! Viconia couldn't help thinking as she watched them. The only way to get across the chamber was to walk past them. She wasn't about to risk having the guards alerted again, so she drew the dagger from her belt.

Also, she'd actually be doing them a _favor_ by putting them out of their miserable existence in the mine.

Viconia charged at Faber first. "The drow—" he squealed in a shrill voice right before she plunged the blade into his neck and silenced him.

Red droplets sprayed across the floor as she pulled the blade back out. She reveled at the sight of the tiny but bloodied weapon. A thrill rushed through her, reminding her how pleasurable killing was, especially when was a despicable surfacer.

Viconia turned to the other miner with a snarl. "The Iron Throne did the right thing by bringing stupid slaves such as yourselves here!"

"Black-hearted drow! Can't you see we were whipped for trying to escape too?" Rill hugged his friend's body, as if there was hope to revive him. He put a hand up defensively in front of him. It almost made her laugh out loud at how pointless the gesture was against her weapon and hatred.

She was about to stab him when the distinct sound of voices trailed in from next door.

Viconia froze with her dagger still raised. So did Rill in his position, and they stared at each other as they listened intently.

The voices grew louder, and Viconia was surprised, then completely horrified, when she recognized the elvish lilt.

This could be even worse than meeting the Iron Throne!

Viconia left Rill in the chamber and ran towards the prison cells in panic. She glanced from one cell to the other—all of them now empty of prisoners—until she reached the back wall and there was nowhere else to go. _Curse it!_ She grasped at the iron bars and an unlocked door swung open.

Not knowing what else to do, she slipped into the corner cell.

All the place had was a pile of musty straw and a bucket. As ridiculous as it may seem, Viconia tried to burrow herself in the straw, scattering stalks all over the cell, but there wasn't enough to hide her whole form. She chanted to Shar, desperately, and felt herself being enveloped in the Nightsinger's sanctuary. Still she crouched facing the wall, praying the umbra of Shar would conceal her from the wretched ones. That twisting feeling in her gut told her she knew exactly who the elves might be.

"The m–miners upstairs spoke of a m–man named Rill. Are you him?"

It was the Harper Khalid's stuttering voice.

"Y–y–yes," Rill stuttered back. Then his voice faltered and he broke down like a distressed child. Everything he babbled next was unintelligible or too hushed for Viconia to make out, but she assumed he was being consoled. Of course a compassionate and righteous soul like Khalid would tend to the slave. Hopefully Rill would simply forget about her and leave the area with them.

_Unfortunately_, light footsteps began to approach the cells instead.

A heavily-armored warrior like Khalid wouldn't tread so softy. No, these steps belonged to _hunters, _Viconia could sense, dread creeping into her. Full-blooded elven hunters. The two elves inspecting the cells must be Coran and Kivan.

She swallowed nervously as she listened to the ranger and rogue speaking to each other in Elvish. They advanced a few steps, then stopped to check the cells, one by one. There was nothing and no one in the other cells but still they combed the area for details.

They passed the third row of cells. They rattled one of the grill doors to determine it was locked.

They arrived at the opposite cell at the end.

Then they stood outside hers.

By now Viconia dared not even _breathe_ as she lowered her head into her knees, trying to make herself smaller. The aura of her Sanctuary spell shimmered around her but she felt vulnerable. For she was still exposed and at their mercy.

Behind her, one of the elves swept the straw strewn on the floor aside with his boot. He fingered the iron bars and latch to find the cell unlocked. There was a pause, but Viconia dared not turn around.

"Xan? Amin utue he," Coran called out in his clipped voice.

_Not the elves… Shar, let me stay in your umbra. _

If only they were Blacktalons_…_ the _humans_ might let her live at least. The elves would not.

She then heard the swishing of wizard robes, one of the rare occasions the morose enchanter would appear animated. Without looking, she pictured Xan marching towards her cell, his hand resting on the grip of his moonblade, ready to kill with it. His footsteps came to a halt behind her.

What was the moon elf going to do with her? Should she look at his face?

In that familiar voice that she hadn't heard for what seemed like months instead of days, that she missed and dreaded all at once, he began chanting. Moments later, the priestess felt her protective sanctuary dissipate from around her, leaving her exposed and even cold to the feel.

Viconia willed herself to turn around.

There, right outside the cell, stood Xan, his hand held up, successfully dispelling her magic.

Slowly, he lowered his hand. He remained outside, standing stiffly but as always, looking princely in his rich purple robes and cloak. When their eyes met, he fixed a long and hard look at her. Acknowledging her not as a familiar face, but as a piece of clue needed to solve his next task.

"There is a dead miner outside, murdered with a blade to his throat. You possess a dagger covered in blood. Did you kill the miner?" he demanded.

So he wasn't pleased to see her. His cutting tone and words were as good as stating aloud that he did not care about the circumstances that drove her to kill that blabbering miner.

But… surely it was obvious that she wasn't wearing her armor. Someone as observant as Xan must be able to see that she didn't have proper clothes on. Unless Xan really did not care anymore? The drow wrapped her arms around herself, finding her tongue mute for almost a minute.

"Yes," she finally said.

At the back, Kivan glowered, tightening his grip over his longsword. Even Coran gave her a disappointed look and shook his head. Xan maintained his cold stare.

"Where are the others?"

"Downstairs. They have defeated the master of the mine—" she said, her voice trembling against her will.

"Why are you here and not with them?" Xan shot the next question before she'd even finished explaining.

_Stop acting so weak!_ Viconia scolded herself. This was Xan in front of her! Lord of social outcasts in Evereska! Person with the lowest constitution she had ever known! A stupid elf!

Brazenly, Viconia got to her feet and matched the hatred in his glare. "It would have been an unsuccessful quest if all of us ended up behind bars," she snapped, gesticulating at the iron bars, before realizing she would have to explain why her cell was unlocked and how no one actually placed her in there.

Xan was already on to her.

"Stop playing games Viconia!" he spat out and raised his hands.

Before she could recoil, Xan's hands were gripping the sides of her face roughly. Her own hands became limp under his command. She couldn't move her body even though she was still standing up straight. All she could do was focus on the blue in his eyes, and the golden specks that dotted them. As if staring into a nightmare, Xan's eyes seemed to blacken, irises dilating like the pupils of a cat. She tried to free herself from his grip, but under his spell she couldn't even will herself to slap his hands away.

Suddenly, as if she'd really struck him, Xan let out a hiss and staggered backwards. The enchantment spell was broken and she could move her limbs again. Viconia retreated until her back was against the grimy prison wall. That was the farthest distance she could put between them.

She watched the enchanter wipe at his face, and cover his mouth with his hand as if about to vomit.

"Mani marte?" Kivan asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Xan turned his face slightly to his kinsman. "She is telling the truth," he replied in Common, in a subdued voice. "We will take her along with us, and find the others."

Coran volunteered to fetch her from the cell, clearly the person least offended by her presence. He hopped into the narrow space with a half-smile. Just as he reached for her arm, Xan added, "Be gentle with her."

"Aye." The archer nodded at Xan, then turned back to take her arm. He coaxed her to move away from the wall with a gentle tug. "There is no ill will between us, is there?" he quipped in his purring tone, giving her a wink. Viconia didn't know if she should feel relieved, annoyed or plain disturbed by the philandering elf.

Casually, Coran escorted her away from the prison cell. As she stepped past the others, Kivan ran his eyes over her from head to toe, noting the dead mercenary's shirt.

"Could there be reason for your immodesty?" he growled.

A moment later, Kivan startled backwards when Xan reprimanded him with a hiss like he were a wayward animal. The enchanter peeled off his own cloak quickly and offered it to her. "It was a gift from Arquen and Imoen. It is enchanted," he mumbled.

Well, she shouldn't be refusing any goodwill at this point. Viconia put on the burgundy cloak and fastened its jeweled strap on her neck. It struck her then how cold she'd been feeling all this time underground, and how generous it must be for Xan to offer her such comfort. The cloak's magical properties also made her feel more confident. More charismatic, like she could now bend the tides of diplomacy as well as Xan.

Not that her heightened charm had any effect on Kivan, who made a move to shove her along. Xan lunged forward to seize the ranger's wrist. After another reprimanding glare at Kivan, he separated her from Coran as well.

Lastly, he placed his hand on the small of her back.

"Take us to the others." Xan's voice was so soft, he sounded like he was whispering. "We have been careful to elude most of the guards. They have yet to sound the alarm over our presence."

The moon elf's touch was gentle, yet Viconia felt as if he'd just attacked her with a Chill Touch spell. For he'd gone from 'I don't fucking care about you' to 'You are now under my care' in the space of five minutes. He walked beside her back to the jailer's chamber, where the Harpers raised their eyebrows questioningly at him.

"We have g–given Rill the g–gold he needs to escape with all the miners," Khalid informed the elves, still eyeing her carefully. Unlike Jaheira however, he didn't look like he wanted to torch her with his breath. The druid neither greeted her nor asked about Arquen.

The Harpers and elves exchanged updates briefly on their plans in Elvish. Then, together, the six of them descended the stairs—the third time that day for Viconia.

"Show us the way." Jaheira finally addressed her when they filed into the entrance chamber, instantly spotting the two corpses that had now stained the left corridor's floor with blood and postmortem bowel movement. Viconia peered up the passage to the guards' private rooms. Did Rasaad managed to bash in all the bastards' skulls? If so, she looked forward to seeing their mangled corpses!

She glanced and pointed at the door to their right. "I believe this leads to the quickest passage that will take you further below, where traps are preventing the girls from leaving." Then she nodded towards the guards' quarters to the left. "But I would like to request your assistance, to follow me down the opposite corridor to execute revenge on the Blacktalons for my capture."

Of course Jaheira wanted to know: "Why should we willingly join you in your bitter vengeance?"

"To make this worth your while, I should inform you that a Sun Soul Monk came to my rescue earlier, and I suppose I ought to repay the favor. Who knows, the guards may have captured the dashing young man in our midst. Male or female, I assume they have no discrimination, and would just as gladly rape him," she explained in the most matter-of-factly voice as she could muster.

Her well-put revelation provoked the desired looks of horror all around. Even Coran gasped and Kivan blinked. _Hah!_ Perhaps she should have emphasized on Rasaad being _human_ as well.

"Viconia, I did not realize…" Jaheira began softly, caught off guard. The druid's perpetual frown and stern voice gave way to a flicker of empathy. She stepped towards Viconia, past a stunned Khalid, and reached out her hand as if wanting to cast a healing spell.

Xan intercepted by raising both his hands and speaking rapidly in Elvish. Viconia guessed from the pointing and the elves moving that he'd ordered Coran and Kivan to go through the smelting chamber; and Jaheira and Khalid to head to the guards' rooms. There was a third passage—through the door opposite the stairs. But instead of making his way to find Rasaad, Xan went to shut all three doors.

Leaving him alone in the room with her.

Turning slowly after shutting the last door, Xan spoke. "Viconia…" He kept his eyes lowered, as if filled with regret. His features looked more forlorn than ever before.

"Viconia, I… none of the others…" he said carefully. "None of us would have done what you did, but I understand why you wanted to… determine the fate of the miner upstairs."

"As he determined mine," Viconia pointed out sharply. "Although I did not die. Would that be preferable?"

"Viconia, I saw… I saw your memory of what the guards did."

His eyes then gazed deeply into hers. Into _her._ With deep sorrow for what had happened even though he must know: how could all of this _not_ have happened? All Viconia could think about was how strangely, and pointlessly emotional, surfacers like him felt over such crimes.

But before she could retort again with something clever, Xan had put his arms around her. He pulled her tightly against him.

And Xan just held her.

* * *

><p>Viconia DeVir was very confused by this surface phenomena of coddling and—even the very word produced bile in her throat—<em>cuddling<em>.

But instead of vomiting into Xan's chest, Viconia found herself _surrendering_ to his arms instead.

It defiled the senses. What happened to gag reflex? The enchanter must've corrupted her heart with some twisted enchantment spell, surely, because out of nowhere she was suddenly struck by how much she'd missed him.

His hands, his touch, his embrace, his warmth, his scent, his lanky-but-somehow-strong-in-appearance body against hers.

She felt changed. Emotions and thoughts she wouldn't dare to entertain in the Underdark washed over her, and planted a bizarre concern for the fate of her worst enemy.

Viconia blurted, "We must find Rasaad now!"

If anyone looked offended by their current position, it was Xan, who narrowed his eyes when she disrupted their embrace. "We must find Rasaad now?" he repeated in an incredulous voice.

"The idiot monk baited half a dozen guards to hunt him so I could escape. I… lied about him being a back door bandit. If they catch him, they will _tear_ his—"

"Understood!"

Xan pressed his eyes shut with his thumb and finger, applying considerable pressure as if to squish his thoughts. With a half-groan-half-sigh, he headed for the door across the stairs.

The path it led up to was a corridor that seemed to stretch on forever. Together they ventured forth, walking under timber beams after timbers beams. A little way ahead, they passed a doorway. They peeked inside to see a chamber lit with dozens of tall candles and an altar with the symbol of a jawless skull over a black starburst. The Black Sun of Cyric.

The temple was empty, so they moved on. Xan kept his eyes on the bare passage ahead of them that ended at a closed door, one hand on the grip of his moonblade and the other held up, ready for battle should guards come pouring out the door. Their silent march allowed room for Viconia's mind to wander over to the battlefield of emotions and maddening experiences she had had so far today. Leading the youngsters (playing prostitutes did not discount the gravity of the mission), talking down brutes, trying to help weak miners, regretting helping weak miners, trying to have sex, forced to have sex, captured, abused, revenge, fear, Hostile Xan, Non-Hostile Xan, being unable to let her Goddess's enemy perish… What an eventful day indeed!

A distant but chilling shriek interrupted her thoughts.

"Did you hear that?" she said to Xan.

Xan nodded grimly. "The sound of an unfortunate soul being tortured. I am not surprised."

The shrieking got louder as they neared the door at the end of the corridor, where they could not hear muffled voices behind it. Xan pressed his ear against the wooden door. Viconia did the same to make out the conversation.

"—easier to catch a rabbit than that bald whore!"

"Damn ogre! He stole our fun!"

An ogre? Xan scrunched up his face with a silent "Ouch…" Viconia shook her head, now genuinely feeling sorry for the monk. The average height for ogres was ten feet and the average weight 600 pounds. By Shar, she should consider herself _lucky_ that the ogre wasn't part of the group that assaulted her.

"I will disorientate them," Xan said, stepping back from the door. But just as he was about to cast a spell, the men started shouting.

Curious, Xan opened the door to the sight of whistling arrows impaling themselves into eyeballs and throats. The Blacktalons scrambled to draw their weapons and raise their shields, but even before they could take cover behind the large table in the centre of the room, they were taken out by a rain of arrows.

So Kivan and Coran had heard the shrieking too. Five guards dropped dead around the table as the archers darted into the room. Xan charged ahead to join his kinsmen, stepping over the still-bleeding bodies towards a third exit.

Viconia intended to follow the enchanter, until one of the bleeding bodies shifted. The male turned towards her and she recognized his face.

This male was the first person to strike her, slapping her so hard that her cheek stung. Then he'd spurred the other laughing tormentors to do the same as they abused her. Viconia seethed at him as she recalled everything he did. _Barbaric, sick bastard!_

Well, pain was the handmaiden of drow. She chanted for a Flaming Blade to appear in her hand. She'd thought of saving the magical weapon for later use, but how could she afford this spiteful male a quiet death? The archers had sliced open his cheek with their attack. A deadlier arrow had impaled itself into his shoulder blade. Still, he had a few more moments of consciousness, which Viconia relished as she bent over to look him in the eye.

"Fool, did you think I could not survive your abuse?" she purred mockingly. The guard let out a gasp. With a bright smile, she made the tip of her flaming weapon dance across his throat, _slowly._ Tears formed at the corners of the man's eyes as he choked on the searing and at-once serrating pain.

"Viconia?"

Shar's teeth! She hadn't expected Xan to return for her. Viconia startled, then quickly ended her little game with a slice across the guard's neck.

The enchanter stood in front of the doorway, shifting his gaze from her to the man's slit throat. The expression on his face though was, uncannily, indifferent.

_A perfect disguise of his true thoughts, _Viconia believed._ But let the elf judge my actions as he wishes. I do not fear him._

"Jaheira and Khalid are also ahead of us. All paths lead to the torture chamber, it appears," he said simply, and put a hand on her wrist. His touch made her tremble, and she dispelled the Flaming Blade.

"I recognized that guard and…" she started to explain her actions, then stopped when it occurred to her that she _shouldn't_ have to explain them. "Why are you not part of the rescue team? Has the monk been found?" she asked him instead.

Noise from the corridor answered on Xan's behalf. Coran reappeared first, green-faced and with anxious news. "By now all the guards will know we are here. Time to go!" he declared, then pointed across the room. "The stairs are not too far, just next to the forge, straight ahead."

Khalid and Kivan emerged next, carrying a battered Rasaad with their shoulders under his arms. It appeared the monk had suffered for helping her—his bare upper body was caked in blood, inflicted by cuts and even blotches of burns.

"The disgusting animal is dead," Jaheira growled as she marched into the room, wiping away grime and sweat from her face. The Harper appeared more than affected by the ogre's battleground, and wanted everyone to know it. "What an affront to nature! We arrived just in time. The cave was littered with bodies, all tortured to death." She turned to Viconia. "I am glad you did not neglect to tell us about Rasaad, drow, considering the kind of creature you are and the goddess you serve."

Hmm… Why did she even bother with trying to be considerate? Now that they'd retrieved the human, they seemed to have already forgotten about her ordeal. Viconia shrugged and said with cheery sarcasm, "I suppose even if I had honestly forgotten to tell you, you would have considered my omission of the truth a grievous lie."

The druid decided to test her goodwill further. "I have balm the worst of his injuries, but he requires more healing."

That made Viconia leave Xan's side and sidle up to the monk. She put on a great show of cupping his cheek, then leaned in to touch her forehead against his. "Once we are safe from danger, I will tend to all your wounds," she told Rasaad in her most soothing voice that, to her great amusement, caused everyone else to grimace.

* * *

><p>"We should not linger here. You must hurry, Coran!" Kivan growled as he paced the bottom of the stairs.<p>

Across the chamber, by the corridor, Coran was fiddling with a wall-mounted box filled with colorful wires and switches. "Sometimes we need to take things slow with our fingers," the rogue mumbled, searching for some link between the contraption and the deadly-looking web of laser beams that spanned over thirty feet. Viconia didn't know much about disarming traps, but it appeared that every time Coran flipped a switch, the red beams would shift and point in different directions, sometimes projecting kaleidoscopic patterns over the wall.

"I agree we must hurry before the guards decide to storm us. And I can very well see Arquen and Imoen pulling faces at me!" Jaheira growled, frowning across the corridor. "How dare they, Khalid! Tell me they are not sticking their tongues out!"

Viconia turned her attention back to Rasaad. They had propped the monk on a cot, where Davaeorn's bodyguard must have slept to watch the entrance to the fourth floor. At present she was sat next to him, dressing and healing his wounds—_strictly in return for the monk's earlier assistance_. Everyone had been relieved to hear that though the ogre had whipped his back and scraped spoons against a plate next to his ear, Rasaad had not suffered molestation from waist-down.

"It must have been quite an acrobatic feat to traverse that obstacle," she admitted as she fingered his shoulder. It still looked like he had been badly bruised or someone had colored the space between his swirl tattoos purple, but this was much better than a festering abscess. "I am actually impressed, Rasaad."

The moon monk didn't smile in return. "How can I be proud of this when I failed to reach you in time?" he lamented, still guilt-ridden after all this time.

She didn't expect Xan to appear right in front of them then, looking like he could will Rasaad to death with his glare. "_I_ am not impressed!" the enchanter snapped. He shoved Rasaad in his good shoulder like a thug, followed by pointing a shaky, accusing finger.

"You incompetent sorry excuse for a warrior! No, for a _man!_ No, you stupid CHILD! You were supposed to be protecting the women! How could you let the guards take Viconia?!"

"Do not blame Rasaad for incompetence when you have been a sniveling coward," Viconia growled, surprising even herself for standing up for the tormented Selunite. "What those rivvin have committed are amateurish compared to the lashings I have suffered in the Underdark."

The enchanter let out a snort before he turned away, robes whipping around his heels. He stormed back over to the other elves and whipped out his moonblade. Coran was still tinkering away with wires and switches, creating some sort of laser light show. The rogue had however successfully cleared three feet into the corridor to bring them closer to Arquen.

Xan stood at the edge of the beams and inspected the trap like he was about instruct Coran on how to disarm it. He turned back at them to roll his eyes dramatically and jeered, "How difficult can it be to cartwheel down a corridor?" He gestured with his moonblade—

—just as Coran pressed a switch that caused the laser beams to project a red exoskeleton onto the enchanter.

"XAAAAN!"

Viconia and Rasaad jumped into each other's arms at the deafening explosion.

Team Elf went flying.

Jaheira hit the roof, literally. Khalid skidded across the floor. Coran did a swan dive in reverse. Kivan flew smacked into the wall and left a spread-eagle imprint of himself. Xan, the most dramatic of all, spun like a wheel without letting go of his moonblade, impaled the weapon into the beam arched over the stairway, dangled from it for just over two seconds before the beam cracked in the middle, then fell flat on his front on the ground.

The support beam creaked a little before it snapped. The cracks in the wall and ceiling as well as Kivan's imprint grew larger until they roared like an avalanche and the entire stairway caved in. Viconia took cover under Rasaad's chiseled torso just as stone dust burst into the air.

When the cloud of dust had cleared and Viconia had swept her hand over the monk's abdomen (s_o they really are as solid as they look!_), the entrance to the fourth floor was left with a pile of collapsed rubble. The half-buried elves and Harpers choked, spluttered and groaned as they crawled to their feet.

The girls Arquen, Imoen and Faldorn came running up the corridor. They caught sight of her and Rasaad huddling at the corner and raced over.

"You're alive! Both of you!" Imoen, now spotting pigtails with frizzy hair, squealed. The human and her half-elf sister tackled both of them and pulled everyone into a fierce group hug. Viconia grunted, suffocated by the tight embrace and shameless outpouring of emotion. "And I _knew_ Xan would create a circus on his way in! I knew it! This is so perfect!" Imoen added.

"I—promised you—ack!—we will—come back," Rasaad managed to choke out as Arquen squashed his face against her chest. Bizarrely, Faldorn came nearer only to reach out and pat Rasaad on his rump._ Yet another surface custom I cannot understand,_ Viconia thought, greatly perplexed.

Slightly out of breath, Arquen dismounted from Rasaad and skipped over to Team Elf, who had now gathered themselves.

"Ah, how impressive of you to _fumble_ your way in," the half-elf exclaimed. "You are also too late—we have already defeated Davaeorn _all on our own._"

Xan coughed out a wisp of dust as he stepped forward as Ambassador of Team Elf. The Candlekeep girls crossed their arms and lifted their chins.

The enchanter let out a deep sigh. "Imoen, your news achieved its desired effect when it arrived. For future correspondences, please just write 'Help us!' and state your current location… Arquen, you have done well as leader, considering the fact that all of you survived…"

"Enough with the lecture!" Khalid cried, and pushed past everyone to take the two girls into his arms. "You had us s–so worried!" Relief washed over the Harper's face as he fawned over them.

With that humble gesture, just like that, the stuttering male wiped the slate clean for everyone.

Next, Arquen introduced the latest addition to their group enthusiastically. "Jaheira, Faldorn aided us and delivered the killing blow to Davaeorn," she said in her sweetest voice, clapping the Shadow Druid on her shoulder. "Faldorn, this is Jaheira, Harper cum druid."

"You are a fool, Jaheira, to think that man can live with nature and not destroy it," Faldorn said by way of introducing herself. Coran eyed her with a wide grin, looking like he had just found happiness in the midst of chaos and strife.

Kivan, who had his back to everyone all this while, turned around. "We cannot leave," he growled, souring the mood completely.

Indeed the collapsed beam and rubble had blocked the entire stairway. The only thing that appeared able to get through the gaps were shafts of light. Xan hung his head in shame and rolled his ankle.

Luckily for him, 'nyah-nyah-nyah' wasn't in Rasaad's vocabulary. "There is the lift shaft," the monk suggested with genuine helpfulness, moving ahead down the corridor now free of traps.

Viconia hovered at the back of their group of ten with a pink-faced Xan. The enchanter was content to shuffle forward in silence, so Viconia cast her gaze around the dining hall. It now contained bodies of monsters, an intrusion of splattered cockroaches, burnt furniture and a smug-looking bowl of salad. When the party filed into Davaeorn's bedchamber, she saw the mauled body of an aged human in pantaloons laid on the floor. Teeth marks sank deep into his face as well as torso; a beast had chewed him several times before spitting him out.

As the male warriors struggled to figure out the directions to the first floor of the mine, Viconia spoke up. "In order to operate the lift, someone must unlock the winch."

"The only key I have is this, but I doubt it's for the lift," Arquen mumbled, wagging a glowing key in her hand.

The key to flood the mine!

Viconia made a grab for the key. "This is the key to unlocking the plug that would flood the mine! The slaves told me about it!" It held the power to destroy the cursed place and drown whichever damn mercenary remaining below. The drow couldn't imagine _not_ flooding it.

"Perhaps you should hold it then, since you know what it's for." Arquen handed her the key and, in effect, placed absolute trust in her.

Viconia unhooked her necklace and strung the key into the chain. It clinked next to the amethyst pendant. Xan turned to her and eyed the piece of jewelry. His expression gave nothing away, but she knew he recognized it. How could he not?

Arquen joined the four hopelessly lost men. "Guys, I did notice a teeny-weeny gap we could squeeze through if we levitated someone," she suggested, pointing upwards.

"That's a g–great idea. I'm proud of you," Khalid praised the half-elf with the beaming face of a parent, not that Viconia knew what a proud father would look like but she'd heard the expression before.

"Imoen and I don't have the spell memorized though." Arquen looked to Xan, her arcane spell mentor.

"I can cast the spell," Xan said.

After standing on Kivan's shoulders ("You can only carry 150 pounds of weight. I can carry 220!" the strong elf had said) to examine the platform from a closer distance, Rasaad hopped back to the ground to tell them, "Arquen is right. There is a gap. It is however very, very narrow."

He started pointing back and forth between their party and the gap.

"Naturally, humans will not do. Imoen and Faldorn may not be the heaviest in weight but you are in non-muscle bulk… Half-elves, let's see. Jaheira and Khalid are about the same size. No, from my estimation, Arquen, I'd even consider _you_ too fat to fit through… That leaves the elves. Kivan, Coran… hmm, no. Maybe you Xan—you are definitely skinnier than female elves… But that still leaves us with Viconia. If your cumbersome breasts do not hinder the way, I believe you would be the smallest in size."

Xan groaned with his hands covering his face. "Rasaad, may I suggest you never represent the Sun Soul Order in situations that may require diplomacy?" He turned to Viconia. "Very well then. I shall cast the levitation spell now if you are ready to go."

Viconia _wasn't_ ready to go, and she also shook her head vehemently. "Why can't _you_ go up there on your own?" Viconia insisted.

Xan gave her a defiant look with his chin held high. "_I assure you_ I am heftier than what everyone thinks."

"I do not like the idea of… _hovering_ thirty feet above the ground!" Viconia hissed. It would not be as nightmarish as being surrounded by the open, endless sky on the surface, but the thought of being suspended in midair at such a height made her dizzy.

"Xan, perhaps you should carry Viconia and head up to the platform together," Arquen suggested.

The half-elf had a glint in her eyes, and her human counterpart let out a squeal. "Oooh, that would be the _perfect_ solution actually!" Imoen chirped with a hungry look. As if it were a matter of great urgency, the pink-haired girl started shooing the rest of the group away from the area, ignoring protests from those who wanted to "keep an eye on the drow" and those who "just want to watch."

The idea of Xan levitating together with her sounded more acceptable though. She wouldn't be floating alone like a helpless feather in the wind. Viconia turned to Xan and nodded. "Now I am ready."

The enchanter swallowed a gulp so big and loud it sounded like a frog's dying croak as it disappeared down his throat.

_Does it make him nervous to stand this close to me within sight of other people? _

"Get on with it!" Arquen barked, making Xan jump towards her. They shuffled about the bottom of the shaft before positioning themselves directly below the platform's gap, facing each other.

Carefully, Viconia placed her hands on Xan's bony shoulders, gripping them slightly to prepare herself.

Xan cleared his throat. "I will now begin the spell," he informed. After one last sigh, he closed his eyes and began to chant. The enchanter's stiff shoulders began to relax as he slipped into trance-like state for his spell, as if returning to the world where he felt most at home.

A faint aura of energy swirled around them and suddenly Viconia felt the pull of her arms as their bodies lifted off the ground.

Immediately she tightened her grip on the moon elf, hands scrambling around the back of his neck for better support. Levitation was _not_ as straightforward as it sounded! Moving upwards in a vertical tunnel was _terrifying_ without grappling hooks, ropes or something other than a chanting wizard! It felt like clinging precariously to the edge of a cliff. To secure her hold, Viconia hooked her legs around Xan's waist like a helpless child. She probably shouldn't look down, but she couldn't stop herself from seeing how they were moving higher and further away from the ground.

Xan never stopped chanting.

But he also slipped his arms around her. His hands locked behind her back until she felt secured enough to relax her boa-constrictor grip around him. When Viconia looked up, bringing her face inches away from his, she found herself held by his gaze as well.

_I am holding you. I won't let you fall. You can trust me,_ Xan's deep blue eyes told her.

Viconia felt the fear of falling or being pulled into the vastness of an unseen open sky leave her completely.

Soon enough they reached the bottom of the lift's platform. There were no beams or handholds so Xan held onto her hips as she gingerly slipped her hands through the gap, reaching over the planks until she had enough leverage to hoist herself up. She poked her head up next, and was relieved to find no guards watching this corner of the mine. Good! Nearly there. From below, Xan gave her a boost.

_Oh curse it!_

The monk was right about her breasts being a hindrance.

Viconia found herself slightly winded as she got stuck mid-climb. Breathing became difficult with no space to expand her chest. She tried exhaling, then inhaling. She tried perching on her elbows. Xan was squeezing her thighs now as he kept pushing her upwards to no avail. Then she felt him peeling the fabric of the cloak around her to each side, fingers—curiously hot and clammy—flicking over her skin. There was a long, awkward interval when his fingers stopped to tremble against her rib. The arcane words were unintelligible to her but Xan's voice went up and down an octave as if he was struggling not to lose his concentration. Then she felt him tapping the bottom of her left breast, followed by her right, to indicate what she needed to do.

The plan worked. Finally she _popped_ free, left side first then right. Her narrow waist and hips slid through the space easily thereafter.

Viconia scampered onto the rough planks and dusted the cloak back over her half-naked body. She reached for the winch and wheel.

Before she stopped herself.

Because… why should she send the lift down?

Also… the drow fingered the chain around her neck—she had the key to the plug. She could flood the mine on her own and kill all those damn mercenaries. Kill the elves. Kill _everyone._

And walk away from it all.

Couldn't she?

Viconia stepped off the lift's platform and into the mining tunnels. One of them must lead to the plug, but Drasus hadn't mentioned which. There were sounds of shuffling movements and mine wagons creaking over rails in the distance. Had that miner Rill manage to lead all the slaves to safety? Viconia was pondering what would happen if she ran into another Blacktalon guard, when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She whipped around and nearly let out a scream.

"Xan! W–what are you doing up here?" she stammered.

"Arquen and Imoen were making it _impossible_ to descend by thrusting spears into the air under me. Also, according to Rasaad, if a 30D could fit through the gap, so could I." He rolled his eyes, then, sensing her unease, narrowed them at her.

"Is something wrong, Viconia?"

She had been on her way to drown the scatterbrained mongrel. The pink giddy bunny. _"Quench the light of the moon whenever you find it"_ was Shar's command, in spite of everything the Selunite had done.

_I was about to kill you. _

How could the drow explain that the desire for the death of her enemies was so strong that she'd forgotten about the lives of her… _non_-enemies? Viconia ran over several answers in her head that wouldn't sound suspicious, and settled for "I was afraid there might be mercenaries waiting in guard."

The enchanter didn't say anything in response, but he took her gently by the arm and pulled her back onto the platform. He cranked the lift back into life and together they returned for the others.

* * *

><p>"Can we leave them downstairs and flood the mine? No one will <em>ever<em> know what we have done, right?" Arquen asked in a deadpan voice as they waited for Team Elf to ascend to the first floor. It turned out the lift had a weight limit and maximum capacity of six humanoid adults, so Xan had to make a second trip down to Davaeorn's chambers.

Imoen nodded with fits of giggling as Faldorn approved heartily, "I have not forgotten their crimes against the Shadow Druids." Even Rasaad smiled serenely to himself for a moment before he snapped out of his daydream with a horrified gasp and quickly confessed his sins. "We must never give in to darkness, no matter how great the temptation."

_I would have been slaughtered if I had been the one speaking those words,_ Viconia surmised. People like Arquen could get away with all kinds of bawdy humor and random acts of violence. Life on the surface really wasn't fair sometimes.

When Team Elf emerged, everyone was somewhat surprised to see Xan assuming a leadership role. The moon elf marched into the mining tunnels until he came to a junction that split into half a dozen branches. There he told them, "The rest of you, carry on to the exit. Viconia and I will open the plug."

Kivan growled something in Elvish, casting a hawkish glare over their labyrinthine surroundings.

Xan replied in Common, "I recall the way, and we can take care of ourselves. The rest of you should aid any remaining miners you see. In minutes we will bring the criminal operations here to an end." Then he added, which seemed to assure everyone he was truly being himself, "The key will probably fail to work or break; or I will be swept away by rushing water on the way out. The least we can do is limit the number of casualties."

Eight heads nodded and dispersed in various directions and teams of twos, leaving Viconia to follow the enchanter.

"We go that way." Xan pointed to the second junction. Without saying anything further, they moved down the long, dim corridor. They walked past a human guard nailed to the support beams with arrows through his shoulder blades. A pickaxe rammed through his abdomen like a permanent bolt. "Yes, Kivan was here earlier," Xan explained.

Further along the wall, Viconia saw the marvel of a steel mechanism… or the biggest sink stopper in the world. It looked like a giant silver sunburst embossed on the wall from floor to ceiling. Whilst magical energy emanated from it, the uninformed person would never have guessed that it would hold back the furor of a powerful river.

Another human miner in loincloth stood in front of the steel plug, fidgeting nervously with his fingers. When he spotted Xan approaching, he straightened his hunched back, like a soldier standing to attention. When he saw Viconia though his eyes widened in alarm, until she undid her necklace and produced the shimmering key. At the sight of the key his weary, bearded face lit up.

"Hey there again," he greeted Xan, astonishingly cheerful for a malnourished slave. "I see that you have the key. It must have been a bloody battle with the master, and you must be tough ones to have lived through it."

Xan and Viconia both shrugged in reply, since neither of them actually participated in the battle.

"All right then, give the key and let's be done with this." The miner extended his hand, calloused palm faced up.

Handing the key over was supposed to be the simplest act of the day, but Viconia suddenly found herself dithering.

In her hand was the power to kill all those Iron Throne mercenaries, she had to impress upon herself.

Thoughts started overwhelming her. _The need for vengeance burns within my soul. _

_I spit upon these humans! Darkness take them! _she wanted to spit out, and it took every fibre of resistance not to. As Viconia dropped the key in the miner's hand, she realized her fingers were trembling. No, her entire body was _shaking_ uncontrollably.

Right then and there, Xan pulled her in an embrace.

In a tender but assured voice, he said in her ear, "Today you will perform heroic deeds that no one would have expected of you, by putting an end to the Iron Throne's operations. You have survived a terrible ordeal but your vengeance will be executed and it is justified. Those men who tortured and abused you—you shall repay their wicked breed threefold."

Viconia found she could not shut the enchanter out, and she did not want to.

Beside them, the bewildered miner cleared his throat loudly. "Oh, one more thing, you did talk to Rill, didn't you?" he piped up, ending their moment. "So that all of the slaves could get out of here alive," he added.

Viconia bit her bottom lip at the memory of almost slaying Rill, and turned her face away.

"Yes, we talked to Rill. You don't have to worry about your friends. They'll all be safe," Xan informed.

The miner nodded and held up the key. "As soon as we open the plug, we're going to have to run for our lives, 'cause otherwise we'll be washed away just like the Orothiar dwarves. Ready then?" He inserted the key into a tiny slot and the steel wall immediately shimmered in response.

Xan took her by the hand and they watched the key glowed with ominous magic. The rays of the sunburst design begin to sink into the wall, transforming into opening slits.

Then a gush of water burst through the openings and spilled onto their legs. Viconia staggered backwards, and Xan had to pull her back.

"Here we go!" the miner shouted, already tearing down the tunnels at breakneck speed no one would've expected him to do without breaking his neck or his bare feet.

Clinging onto Xan's hand, she followed him. Water rushed between their legs, threatening to bowl them over and sweep them into the unknown depths of the mine. Wearing magical boots didn't help at all when it came to moving water. Around them barrels, stools and wagons quickly rose and drifted along, slamming against walls as the torrent grew stronger.

Racing around a sharp bend, they saw the miner ahead of them, slamming his body against a barred door. They reached him along with the first great wave of water. Xan let go of her hand to let the force of the water toss him first against the barred exit. Viconia was deafened by the roaring waves and splitting wood as the door broke down. Then she tumbled forward, swept into the blinding brightness of the surface world.

* * *

><p>"Eeeeeeeeeee she's coming to! Viccy's okay!"<p>

_Either I did not drown in the flood, or I have finally fallen to Lolth's cruel punishment. _

Viconia regained consciousness to the high-pitch squeals of the two girls from Candlekeep. She opened her eyes to them doing a victory dance in the forest that involved a lot of twirling around tree trunks, before jumping on top of her with smothering hugs. As Viconia struggled for air and dignity, Rasaad appeared behind the half-elf's shoulder and blasphemed, "Thank Selune you are all right!"

A pair of non-flapping hands rest on her shoulders next, belonging to Faldorn. After one last healing touch, the druid helped her to sit up. "The Great Mother thanks you for putting an end to the defiling of Cloakwood," she said in her melodic voice, with a genuine smile.

In the distance, a stream now flowed directly to the mouth of the mine, channeling to the course that circled the fortress like a moat. Parts of the forest and the riverbank appeared to have been flooded earlier, scattering debris and broken materials from the mine, but now such waves had receded back to calm, gentle rivers.

"We managed to free most of the miners. They're now making their way north to Baldur's Gate. That's our next destination!" Arquen informed brightly, gesturing at the evening horizon.

"They are calling us _heroes!_ Plus two to our reputation! Good on you for saving the day!" Imoen cheered, making 'V' signs with both her hands.

Viconia let out an inward groan, imagining the nightmare of unwanted attention and becoming famous for silly good deeds. But she decided it would be best to argue over this another day.

"Oh, you almost lost this in the flood!" Arquen held up Xan's shimmering cloak like a banner. Its magical qualities appeared to have kept it completely dry and unspoiled, like it had just been purchased from the store or, knowing Arquen, stolen from the closet. As the half-elf draped it over her back, Viconia glanced around her to search the surrounding forest for the moon elf.

_Where _is_ Xan?_

Still on Team Elf's side, apparently, on the other end of the clearing. He sat in the middle of a circle of standing elves and Harpers, with Jaheira knelt over him to check his injuries.

It was just a glance but the enchanter immediately sensed the she was looking for him. He turned in her direction and leapt to his feet. For a moment his petite figure disappeared behind the males _and_ the manlier Jaheira, the bodies that possessed greater strength and double the constitution. Then he pushed through them and staggered into view.

Like her his dark hair was a damp mess, further untamed by a circlet that had bent out of shape. Unlike her he was weighed down by his purple robes that had soaked up floodwater and were still dripping water at the hemline. His moonblade dangled from him like a flaccid body part, or like it was wilting, quite possibly from shame.

Behold the epitome of a weak and awkward man. This was what it meant to be utterly, completely miserable.

The sun decided at that moment to sink into the horizon, as if offended by such a pathetic sight and refusing to give it anymore time of day, also forcing a premature end to the summer season. As Xan stood facing her with his patented life-is-so-hollow expression, she could not imagine any person or two-legged creature more pitiable.

Viconia smiled and went to him.


	16. 16: Rasaad

_NOTES: Fluff ahead. You've been warned. __The only serious thing I have to say is I'll be catching up on lots of reading and reviewing soon XD _

* * *

><p>"Coran, I don't understand. Why is my presence necessary for this…<em> relationship counselling<em> session?" Rasaad asked as he sat upright in the wooden tub, elbows pressed down on the sides.

He'd been enjoying a warm soak at the Friendly Arm Inn, where the tub had been prepared for him with wonderfully inviting hot water. After all those days camping in Cloakwood, this was a welcomed change from bathing in rivers and lakes, where he had to heat the water around himself with his Sun Soul abilities. He had planned to spend at least an hour at the bathhouse, but then Coran had come in search of him.

The elf shrugged and pointed at himself. "Don't you think the request for _my_ presence sounds even more absurd?"

"You have plenty of experiences with women," Rasaad said, then found himself dazed by the realization of hundreds of women who have slept with Coran. They numbered more than the population of some villages. What a terrifying thought! "Perhaps you could learn the virtues of monogamy in your next relationship," he quickly added.

The elf shrieked so loud that Rasaad almost fell back into the foamy water as he was climbing out of the tub. With his right hand, Coran touched his forehead, chest, left then right shoulders, as if casting a ward against evil. "How dare you utter such blasphemy! That would be a curse unto me!"

The monk carefully made his way over to his clothes as Coran clutched at his chest with one hand; the other hand clasped over his mouth. He retched several times. _Most people get ill at dead bodies, or sewage waste, but I suppose this is Coran's vomit threshold,_ Rasaad thought as he toweled himself dry.

It took almost a minute for Coran to recover from his state of horror. When he did, he turned to Rasaad again, who was now putting on his clothes.

"You know, what you _really_ need is to bed Blondie. Why not do it tonight? It'll be a grand conquest!"

Rasaad looked up and blinked several times at the elf. "Blondie? Conquest?" he queried.

Coran pointed right at his crotch, where his trousers hung at half-mast. "That impressive weapon is not meant to be hidden, is it? You must know how to _wield _it! Don't you want to sleep with Arquen?"

At the realization of what the ladies' man was referring to, Rasaad felt his face start to burn. "I, ah, have never thought of Arquen in a romantic sense," he admitted. He wanted to add that he'd never thought of _anyone_ in a romantic way before, but Coran was already bursting with over-excitement.

"Who said anything about romance?! It is all about plunging your weapon into her! You lure Blondie to a room tonight, toss her onto the bed (like this!), and—"

As Coran rambled away, he made all kinds of wild gesticulations with his fingers and hands, that concluded with both fists clenched at imaginary reins, hips thrust forward.

_Baldur's Gate is an eight-hour journey from here if we travel on foot via the main road. The weather is expected to be cloudy with a slight chance of rain…_ Rasaad recited in his head as he battled against his crude side of nature.

Mercifully, Coran ceased his lurid descriptions of naked half-elves then. After one final fist pump, he held up his hands like a stop sign.

"But first let us go deal with the enchanter's dilemma!"

* * *

><p>In the modest room that Rasaad was sharing with Xan at the Friendly Arm Inn, representatives of the various marital statuses andor romantic inclinations were in attendance for the discussion:-

Single: Rasaad  
>Married: Khalid<br>Widowed: Kivan  
>Lothario: Coran<p>

Kivan paced the room slowly in front of the two beds, like a predator working up his appetite. Coran was fingering the wall, as if amidst the dull color there was wet paint that he wanted to watch dry. Khalid, father figure and attentive as always, had pulled a chair up to Xan's bed.

_Hide in Shadows Failed._ Fidgeting as he sat at the edge of his own bed, Rasaad tried to explain, again, "I have no experience with romantic relationships—there can be no wisdom on my part!"

"We are aware," Khalid said kindly, "but we also know that y–you possess the highest wisdom among us and y–ou may offer some valuable perspective."

The young human sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, deeply uncomfortable with this… this confrontation with Xan over his relationship with Viconia. It shouldn't come as a surprise—there had been plenty of frowning, shaking heads, clicking tongues and grumbling the whole trek back through Cloakwood. Not that it stopped Xan from huddling by Viconia's side the whole way. The enchanter had acted like the drow's bodyguard, walking beside her all the way, sleeping next to her, and even tasting her food before she ate it.

Rasaad's current discomfort couldn't possible compare to Xan's though. The small-sized moon elf was sitting over his blue blankets, hands nervously clamped between his knees, doe eyes pleading for mercy. The tips of his pointy ears flopped downwards. How would one describe the state of a surface elf caught in dangerous liaisons with a drow?

Perhaps this:

Xan looked like a puppy being scolded for the crime of peeing on a wedding dress… fashioned out of rare silk… that belonged to the queen… one hour before the wedding ceremony… and the dress had been handed down from her mother… whose dying wish was for the wedding dress to be one day displayed in the Museum of Wedding Dresses.

Khalid cleared his throat and began the inquisition. "Xan, w–we are gathered here t–to express our c–concern over your choice of p–partner."

Xan let out a tiny whimper. His face started changing its pale color to pink.

As an ice-breaker, Coran offered the enchanter a wine bottle, which Xan took a long swig from. Then the bottle was taken away like a mother hellbent on weaning her infant. The moon elf sank his face into his hands with another timid whimper.

"Plenty of fish in the sea, my friend, plenty more," Coran drawled, sweeping his hand through the air dramatically. "Dames are all alike once you have tasted a few."

"Trout fishing appeals only to you, Coran." Xan shot the archer one of his piercing glares, before lowering his gaze again. "For the first time in my life, I have permitted my emotions to run free," he confessed, softly and seemingly to the floorboards.

Kivan stopped his pacing for a moment and let out a growl. "You entrust your emotions to someone who holds firmly to the belief that love is a lie. Love in all its forms. Only hate endures."

"The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference," Xan argued, uselessly.

"Xan, it is good for a man to find a soulmate he can marry and commit his life to. It is precious to have a wife." Khalid smiled dreamily to himself, obviously filling his thoughts with Jaheira. To everyone else, the half-elf druid appeared to be one intimidating woman. So much so that Rasaad had seen burly Flaming Fist guards drawing straws to decide who should speak to her, and as far as he knew, Khalid didn't stutter before he met her. Yet their marriage worked.

A shade not found on the usual purple color spectrum filled Xan's face. His lips half-smiled, half-trembled.

Unsurprisingly, Coran snorted at this notion. "I beg to differ. As with all matters of the heart, some are benign, some malignant. Just lay with the drow, be rid of your itch once and for all, and try a gnome or half-orc next for variety!"

Everyone else collectively groaned. The archer didn't look at all offended.

"W–what are your thoughts on this, Rasaad?" Khalid turned all attention to the monk.

_No wonder monks abstain from romantic relationships. They always seem to lead to imprudence, bondage, diseases, and bouts of insanity. _

_But then again_… Rasaad glanced at the elf he'd been traveling with for several months now. The only time Xan ever looked happy—genuinely, animated big-smile happy—was in the presence of Viconia. He recalled one morning when he thought he heard birdsong in their room, only to discover it was actually Xan _whistling_ _a tune_ during his morning ablution. He didn't realize it then, but _Viconia had the power to make Xan whistle!_

As for the priestess of Shar… Whenever Xan held her attention (and affection?), she'd behave a lot less evil, Like stop drawing obscene cartoons on the back of his bald head when he was asleep. So there was actually a way to restrain the drow's evil, maybe even steer her towards good! What a tremendous discovery!

"I think…" Rasaad began carefully. Already Xan was giving him a dubious look at those two words. "Viconia may come from the unlikeliest background, yet the both of you complement each other. She is like a mirror that reflects the better person in you, Xan. How can it be wrong to meet the person who shows not what you are, but what you can be?"

The elven men pondered over his words. Even Coran looked stunned, as if suspended in a moment of epiphany.

Then he shook his head, brown floppy hair bouncing about his face. "Nope. Makes no sense. Too deep."

Kivan spoke again. "It is difficult to find pity for such a creature, though I must. Even Viconia does not deserve abuse from those monsters who work with Tazok." He narrowed his dark eyes at Xan. "Her time on the surface will likely be brief. Do you wish to spend years grieving for a cursed creature? There is also little hope for a drow to change her evil ways. It tears me up inside to see my brother surrender his reason. I cannot remain if you decide to ally with drow, Xan."

"I'm leaving anyway. Got a bounty to collect," Coran quipped.

"This is madness! Blackmail!" Xan declared, leaping to his feet and flailing balled fists up and down. "I don't need anyone telling me how to handle my feelings! I am an _enchanter_, for Corellon's sake!"

With a huff, the moon elf stomped over to the door. "Nobody follow me!" he snapped.

Rasaad stood up to follow him.

Xan paused in his step for a moment, then sighed. "Like I said, I suppose."

* * *

><p>The two men seated themselves in a corner of the Friendly Arm Inn's dining hall, where instead of the regular round tavern tables and stools, they sank themselves into two plush settees. Currently Xan was concentrating on creating a miniature whirlpool in his wine glass.<p>

Rasaad drummed his fingers on his mug of tea as he watched the moon elf swirling his drink. It felt like so long ago when they first stayed at the Friendly Arm Inn after meeting Viconia. Back then Xan used to say, "The best drow is a dead drow."

How things have changed!

He couldn't help but ask. "Xan, how did you come to have feelings for Viconia?"

Xan made his wine splash about for a moment. Then he mumbled, "A moment of madness."

Rasaad meditated on this. _Is this how one experiences the state of falling in love?_

"I suspected your interest, though I am curious why you never mentioned it," he ventured next.

Xan looked up at him with pointed eyes. "Would _you_ indulge me with the details of romancing a half-elf with long blonde hair, whose name starts with the letter 'A'?"

"Of course I'd tell you about her, and seek your opinion, if I were ever to meet such a woman!"

The moon elf raised his brows. Then he let out a defeated sigh and shook his head. "I see. Have you something to say about Viconia then? Some philosophical advice?"

"Well, actually…"

Rasaad dropped his gaze down to his mug, dread curling inside him suddenly. Guilt had been plaguing him since they left the Cloakwood mine, reminding him how he'd failed to find Viconia before she was raped. It was like a labyrinth inside the mine, but couldn't he have moved faster? Perhaps he should've attacked that mercenary Drasus instead of letting him leave with Viconia. Life on the surface must already be so difficult for the drow. Why did she have to suffer some more abuse?

"I've been meaning to express how sorry I am for not reaching Viconia in time before… before those guards hurt her." He swallowed a deep breath, recalling how upset Xan had been. The elf had shouted at him for not protecting the women like a proper warrior, even called him a stupid child.

And as a matter of fact, Rasaad couldn't even save his own brother.

So he found himself rambling, as if apologizing for both Gamaz and Viconia's fates. "I tried my best. I suppose my best just… well, it wasn't good enough and—"

Xan waved a hand in front of his face to cut him off.

"Do not blame yourself," the elf told him, blue eyes blazing at the memory. "Those Throne bastards were vile dogs—now they are corpses drifting aimlessly underwater."

Then Xan mellowed down and relaxed his shoulders. "I believe _I_ owe _you_ an apology… for my outburst in the mine. Those terrible things I said; please forgive my words."

Neither of them were smiling, but Rasaad felt the tension between them melt away. There had been plenty of wrongs, thoughtless words, and misunderstandings committed in Cloakwood. Although they could never undo the past, at the very least, Viconia was still alive. She'd recover.

"Is Viconia all right?" he wanted to know.

"She… does not see things the way we do. She does not understand how depraved a crime that was. The tainting of beauty, unforgiveable. Flooding the mine to her was vengeance well executed. Our continued quest in destroying the Iron Throne gives her strength and—" The moon elf sighed. "—delight. She does not lament, nor complain. Her spirit is not broken."

_Vengeance well executed… this is possible?_ Rasaad wondered if he could find and destroy Alorgoth, for the mysterious disappearance of his Sun Soul brothers in Athkatla.

And if he killed the Shadow Thieves responsible for Gamaz's death, would his melancholy disappear? Perhaps there was wisdom in the priestess of Shar he could learn from.

He noticed Xan's face lighting up at the sight of someone approaching their table. It was Viconia, whose face was actually concealed under a drawn hood, but her appearance was enough to make Xan smile. The drow slipped into the settee, and pressed the side of her hip against Xan's. The couple exchanged warm, tender smiles, no words needed to express their mutual affection. Then Viconia inspected Xan's wine glass playfully, taking a sip from it.

Finally, she turned to Rasaad and greeted him with a scowl.

Regardless, Rasaad gave her a warm smile. They didn't speak much during the journey back from Cloakwood, but he'd been keeping an eye on her. Perhaps her spirit had not been broken by her ordeal, but her fatigue was clear.

So the monk told her, "It is good to see you, Viconia. You look well rested."

Viconia maintained that sneer she reserved for him. "Save your chitchat for someone else. Do not assume we have become lesser enemies because of your heroics. Have I not repaid you for your assistance? Now, as the surface saying goes: two's company, three's a crowd."

"Now, now, be nice, Viconia…" Xan scolded, halfheartedly.

Rasaad stood up slowly, feeling a little slighted. It seemed all so strange that Viconia only acted kindly towards him during troubled and dangerous times. A fair-weather foe?

"Good night, Viconia, Xan," he told them.

They didn't even notice him walking away.

After making his way around one of the many pillars that dangled lanterns from them, Rasaad surveyed the dining hall. Most of the round tables were occupied by guests and the atmosphere was lively with bardsong. Barmaids weaved their way through the tables expertly with trays perched on their shoulders. Near the doorway to the kitchen, he spotted Coran in a chair backed against the wall, in the centre of a group of women Rasaad didn't recognize. As if occupying a throne, the archer had two women draped on either side of him and his arms circling their hips.

Whatever conversation Coran may be having with the women, it didn't seem like a good idea to say, "Can I join you?".

Fortunately, the sight of three girls he _did_ recognize perked his spirits. Arquen, Imoen and Faldorn were making their way towards the exit, and Rasaad hurried over to them.

"I feel like a bird trapped in square-shaped hill cave. No, I cannot stand being in this monstrous cage no longer! I am not Jaheira who worships poisoned beliefs!" Faldorn was growling in a tone that spoiled her melodic voice.

Arquen couldn't hide the disappointed look on her face. "Well, I guess we'll catch up if we need to explore the woodlands again," she said heavily. "Won't you wait to head south together with Coran, at least?"

"You wish me to accompany the elf who possesses a severed wyvern's head and warts? Certainly not."

"See ya, Faldorn," Imoen chirped, waving goodbye at the Shadow Druid.

Rasaad went up to the group. "It appears I have arrived just in time to say farewell. It was a pleasure to have traveled with you, Faldorn. I have learnt much about those who dedicate their lives to preserving the sanctity of the forest," he said to Faldorn.

At his presence, Faldorn wiped away the irate snarl from her face. In her sweet voice that wasn't afforded to the two sisters, she said, "Rasaad, would you come outside with me? There is something I would like to share with you in private before I depart. "

The monk gave all the girls a questioning look. When he caught Arquen's eye, the half-elf diverted her gaze to the floor. "Oh, go on," she told him in a rambling voice. "If there's something that cannot be spoken in the company of trusted friends, who am I to stop you? _Go!_ I'm not the least bit suspicious!"

As he followed Faldorn out the grand many-pillared entrance of the inn, the last thing he saw over his shoulder was Arquen showing Imoen one of her daggers, which, if he recalled correctly, was the Dagger of Venom, a potent weapon that secreted venom into the victim's bloodstream.

* * *

><p>He followed Faldorn outside the vast stone keep, where the druid immediately sucked in a deep breath of outdoor air. She didn't say a word as they crossed the inner grounds; instead directing her glare at bricks, fences, stables and the few houses. Faldorn's unease made it clear that she belonged in the wilderness, outside the walled hamlet of the Friendly Arm Inn.<p>

And that was okay with Rasaad. Even though he was born in Calimport, he often preferred the peaceful surroundings of nature to cities.

They crossed the drawbridge and entered the forest. Slowly, the activity from the Friendly Arm Inn faded away, replaced by the chatter of crickets, rustling branches and night breeze. The earth crunched softly beneath their boots. As they reentered her territory, the druid's glare softened. She ran a hand over the trunk of every tree they passed, like how one embraced their children after coming home.

"Do you see the waxing moon?" Faldorn finally spoke, tipping her head back to gaze up at the clear, night sky.

Rasaad too gazed up at the illuminated crescent. "Aye, a new cycle has already begun, and we look forward to Selune's face shining down upon us again."

He turned to Faldorn, appreciating their shared interest in the moon, the stars, all those sprinkles of light that unveiled mysteries in the night. Perhaps they had the most in common when it came to stargazing. Viconia always seemed terrified of the sky ("When those stars fall like chakrams on your head, you will not mock my caution then!"), Imoen sang about cows jumping over the moon, and Arquen once said, "Don't you think it'll be great if the moon was made of green cheese?"

The druid also turned to face him, with a smile that made her look quite alluring. Another thing they had in common were tattoos on their face. None of the other women had them, so he had been intrigued by the dark patch covering Faldorn's left eye, and her reasons for it: "The others paint their eyelids every day. Am I not wiser by making my facial markings permanent?"

In a bizarre move, Faldorn pinched at his upper lip to look at his canine tooth. Then she put her fingers around his eyes and held them open. No, she wasn't making funny faces or even _looking_ at him—she appeared to be inspecting his irises. When she placed her hands around his shaved head, Rasaad decided to back away slowly.

"Faldorn? Why are you inspecting my earlobes?"

She grinned and stepped towards him. "This is also the time of the month when I am most fertile. My time of creating life," Faldorn purred, batting her eyelashes. "Monk, you possess the fittest body I have ever seen. With the loss of my brothers and sisters, it is my responsibility to repopulate the Shadow Druids."

That said, Faldorn put a hand on his chest and pushed him down, with enough force to make him stagger backwards onto a log.

So stunned was the monk that his martial reflexes couldn't process if he should punch her under the chin, dive inside the hollow of the log, or run to save his virginity.

Faldorn peeled the hide sleeve off her shoulder, and attempted to straddle him.

"Stop, Faldorn! Please!" Rasaad protested, twisting his body sideways. "Whatever you are trying to accomplish on top of this dead tree, I cannot participate!"

He wriggled away from under the wild girl, flipped over the log, and crouched behind it like a barricade.

Faldorn hissed at him, her face contorting to an enraged-animal snarl. She reached around for her satchel, rummaging through it roughly with sounds of clinking glass. At last she produced a jar which she thrust towards him. "If you must refuse my body, then all I require is your seed!"

Rasaad gaped in horror at the jar, complete with a gingham-patterned lid. "I am not filling up that jar with–with—NO! OUT OF THE QUESTION!"

The druid threw up her hands with an exasperated huff. "It is because of _her,_ isn't it? When did the half-elf imprint herself on you?!"

"Who are you talking about?! Jaheira?"

"Jaheira's choice of a mate suits her weakling nature! No, I am referring to _Arquen!"_

Another person bringing up Arquen's name this evening! Just what is supposed to be going on between him and their leader?!

When Faldorn didn't say anything else, and went strangely quiet, Rasaad peeked over the log.

The Shadow Druid's ferocious countenance had gone. Now she huddled on her knees like a lost and frightened girl in the middle of the wilderness. The quarterstaff she wielded with deadly skill now looked like a branch that had fallen beside her. Her satchel laid open, herbs spilling out onto the earth.

Carefully, Rasaad slid over the barrier between them and sat next to her. He obviously couldn't offer the druid… _that_ (those)… but he could offer her compassion (in abundance).

"Faldorn, I'm sorry about the Shadow Druids," he said gently. "Not a day goes by when I do not think about the brother I've lost."

The druid shrugged. "Death is a natural end that everyone must face."

"I do not disagree, but I'd also like to believe that it is natural to grieve. The company of others helps in this regard. Would you not reconsider coming with us to Baldur's Gate?"

From the corner of her eyes, Faldorn glared at him. "You know I cannot tolerate that woman's poisonous influence."

"Arquen is not without her faults, but—"

"_Jaheira!_ I am talking about _Jaheira!_ Her attitude is too compassionate, too gentle! I cannot stand by people of such little character!"

In all the time he'd known the Harper-druid, Rasaad had never heard the words 'compassionate' and 'gentle' being used to describe Jaheira. He also believed he'd seen more compassion and gentleness in Viconia. Beside him, Faldorn pretended to wring something in the air, which Rasaad imagined to be Jaheira's neck. Obviously the two druids were never going to get along, but with Jaheira being a lot more willing to journey through cities, it made more sense for the Harper to stay.

"If I want action, I guess I'll have to make my own. Perhaps I should find a new druid grove and lead it." Faldorn scooped up her belongings and got to her feet. With a small bow, she asked, "Since we are not breeding tonight, what will you do?"

The monk shrugged. "Keep Arquen company with a few games of chess, I suppose, so she doesn't go looting all the chest of drawers on the third floor."

"Hmm. Go perform whatever mating ritual you city dwellers have made complicated then. Farewell, Rasaad."

Faldorn transformed into a wolf, licked the back of his hand, and ran off into the night.

After brushing the grass-stains off his pants, Rasaad made his way out of the forest. At the entrance of the Friendly Arm Inn, he found the two sisters from Candlekeep standing by the drawbridge, Arquen bouncing on her feet when she spotted him.

"What did Faldorn want?" the half-elf asked, her turquoise eyes looking unnaturally huge.

"She wanted me to see the waxing moon. I tried to ask her to stay with us, but it sounds unlikely she will ever see eye to eye with Jaheira." He noticed that Arquen had been holding her dagger behind her back, which she replaced in her sheath. "What are the two of you doing outside?" he wondered.

"Um…" Arquen mumbled before Imoen quipped, "Checkin' out the stars!"

"Yup!" The half-elf nodded. She fell into step with him and slipped a hand around his arm. "It's a lovely night, but let's head back inside. Wanna play cards?"

Rasaad grinned, and couldn't think of anything he'd rather do than play Go Fish with the half-elf.

* * *

><p>After resting at the Friendly Arm Inn until everyone was fully healed and all spells were successfully memorized, they set off to Baldur's Gate.<p>

Apart from Faldorn, Coran too took their his from the group, to return to Beregost to collect the reward for the wyvern's head. A small argument broke out over how the 2,000 gold reward should be split. Technically, Coran had struck the deal first with Arquen, but only Team Elf had been present (and only Kivan lent his bow) at the wyvern's nest. There was the question about Faldorn being an unplanned extra headcount. In the end, the archer handed over a bag of looted gems to placate the calculative-minded members of the party, namely Arquen, Imoen, Jaheira, Viconia and Xan. Coran grumbled about all women (and effeminate men) being terribly calculative, to which Rasaad pointed out that, were she still here, Faldorn would have thought differently—she would've gladly accepted payment in the form of sperm donation. That knowledge immediately sent Coran running into the forest.

Baldur's Gate was less than a day's journey, so Jaheira and Khalid allowed the party to enjoy a leisurely stroll off the main northbound road, with Kivan stalking the forest around them. It was during their lunch break that Rasaad found himself by a small stream.

Bent over the clear running water, the monk washed the plum he had been saving in his pack. He ran a thumb over the fruit's deep purple skin, completely unblemished yet soft when he rubbed it. The perfect stage of ripeness. Jaheira had allowed them to have an hour's break ("Wander off if you must, but don't let me catch you climbing trees! Did you hear me, Imoen?"). What a better way to relax than by sitting next to a tranquil stream, snacking on delicious fruit?

Just when he thought he was alone, Imoen's face appeared right next to his reflection in the stream.

"Hiya! Watcha doing?" she greeted with her usual pixie grin, plopping down beside him on the riverbank.

Rasaad smiled back at the pink-haired girl, and showed her the plum. "I was about to have some fruit. My only indulgence, you could say. This is probably the last plum for the year."

"Ohhh, I love plums too!" Imoen chirped. "Love 'em when they're perfectly ripe and a little squishy!"

Oh.

He looked down at the round fruit in his hand, glistening with drops of water. This was his last plum, from the half-dozen he'd bought earlier at the Friendly Arm. Bentley Mirrorshade mentioned he'd bought the last batch of the season and, well, he'd have to wait till next summer's harvest after this one. He'd been keeping it just so he could savor it too.

But, Imoen's eyes were dancing at the sight of the plum.

Rasaad handed it to her. "You can have it, Imoen." he said with another smile.

Imoen took the plum from him but didn't sink her teeth into it immediately, like he'd expected her to. Instead she held it in both hands and studied it for awhile, with a solemn look uncharacteristic of her.

"Do you need me to peel it for you? Cut it into slices?" he offered.

"No," Imoen said softly. "Just that… it's the last one you're gonna have for the rest of the year and you really don't mind just giving it to me, huh?"

This confused him. Did she honestly think he couldn't see the hungry look in her eyes? "Of course I don't mind! I can tell how much you are going to enjoy it!"

"I _know._ You're just being the sweetest, nicest guy I've ever met. Ever." Imoen gazed down at the plum in her hands again, still not eating it. She let out a small sigh.

"Hey, Rasaad," she began, taking his hand and turning his palm face up. She dropped the plum back into his hand. "You should share this with Arquen."

The mention of Arquen brought another smile to his face. "Why don't I cut it in half? Then you can _both _have some!"

Imoen shook her head furiously. "No, I think you should share it with just her. She'll think you're a star! Every little bitty thing you do means the world to her, y'know. It's all there in her journal, I swear!"

"It is just an afternoon snack, Imoen. Hey! Why are you reading her—"

Imoen interrupted him by jabbing him sharply in the arm. "Aaaannnd you're gonna tell her that this is the last plum of the season, that's why you're giving it to her. 'Cos you like making her feel special so you'd give her everything and anything, yeah?" Her grip on his forearm tightened, and she bore her eyes fiercely into his, looking like she wanted to make him swear a blood oath.

Which was unnecessary when it came to Arquen. Of all people, Imoen should know by now how much he'd do for her sister. Did he have to remind her? "I'd give her the moon, the sun, and the stars, if I could," Rasaad told her.

Imoen let out a whistle. "Wow…" She relaxed her grip on him, and her eyes glistened with tears for some reason. "You have ta repeat that to her, every single word."

Then she seized his arm again with renewed force and dragged him to his feet. "C'mon! Watcha waiting for?!"

* * *

><p>At Imoen's suggestion, Rasaad made his way up a grassy slope. He spotted Arquen leaning against a boulder like a makeshift table in front of her, spellbook spread open. As much as he wanted to sidle next to her right away, he paused for a moment to study the blonde half-elf. The top part of her long hair was pulled back by a few tousled braids. A couple of braids fell against her cheeks, which he just wanted to touch, and tuck them behind her elfish ears for her. She was staring into the distance as if in deep thought, with her hands propped under her chin, that looked at once curious and adorable to him. There was just something, or everything, about the half-elf that stirred him up inside, a beautiful light that he could actually reach out and feel with his hands.<p>

He hurried over.

"Hello, Arquen. I have something for you."

He offered her the plum. Arquen looked up with a smile in greeting, and took the fruit from him. "Thanks!" she quipped.

Then she went straight back to staring ahead of her. The plum dangled between her fingers.

Rasaad had expected a little more reaction, but nevertheless he settled down next to her patiently. Imoen did say he should tell her how it wasn't any ordinary plum. "It's from the last harvest of this year. I want you to have it."

"Mm," was all Arquen had to say in response. She was still fixated with a bush in front of them.

"Umm, what are you doing?" he asked.

Arquen put a finger to her lip, then pointed at a spot in the bush. Following where she was pointing, he realized that through the gaps in the shrub, they had a clear view of Xan and Viconia in the distance. However, from the couple's position, they would not be able to make out Arquen's spying eyes.

"How long have you been watching them?" Rasaad asked.

"Only a few minutes. No action yet," Arquen admitted nonchalantly at first, then flushed red the next second. "I'll stop watching once they start making out, I swear!"

The monk shook his head in amusement before he joined in the spying. It really was quite a sweet, tender scene. The couple were sitting under the shade of a maple tree, whose leaves were in the midst of changing into a brilliant red for autumn. Viconia's head was resting on Xan's shoulder, and the elf rested his head against hers. Neither of them were speaking; they appeared content with simply enjoying each other's company.

"A moon elf and a drow. Who would've thought?" Arquen let out a dreamy sigh.

Indeed, who would've thought this was possible, if not for the evidence before their eyes? With their heads pressed together, Xan's pale features and Viconia's ebony skin accentuated their differences. That was just the surface level, without delving into how sullen mood swings became compatible with drow sadism. Whatever Xan and Viconia shared though, Rasaad believed, transcended all such differences, and he couldn't be happier for them.

Just then Xan wrapped his arm around Viconia's shoulders, pulling her into a cuddle. At that sight Arquen sighed again, raising her shoulders dramatically.

Rasaad found himself wondering: should he copy Xan's move and do the same with Arquen?

_Is this that moment of madness Xan spoke about? _

Something sparked within him as he shifted closer to the half-elf's side, his pulse quickening now that their bodies were just inches apart and he was about to touch her. Yes, he would _very much_ like to touch her, but not at all in that bodice-ripping way Coran suggested, or as part of a complicated mating ritual (according to Faldorn). He appreciated their different opinions, but once again it appeared Xan was the person he should look to for guidance…

Now the elf touched the drow's neck lightly, trailing his fingers down the centre of Viconia's neck.

This was _definitely_ the right time to stop the intrusive watching and have his own moment with Arquen. Rasaad touched the back of her shoulder lightly to see whether she would object.

Arquen elbowed him in the arm. "See that amulet?" she whispered, and pointed through the bush again. "Viconia told me that it costs 4,500 gold!" She let out another sigh. "Now there's a man who knows how to make a girl feel real special! I'm envious."

Rasaad dropped his hand.

The half-elf rolled the plum between her fingers absently as she carried on beholding the couple. Her pursed lips, deep sighing _and_ that way she was fingering the simple bluestone necklace around her throat made it clear how much she longed for a similar amulet. Rasaad didn't know what being romantic was all about, but Arquen had just pointed out the value of a gift that seemed to equate to its cost. Regardless of what Imoen said, he was unconvinced that he could make Arquen feel special at all! Unless he gave her something more than just a silly fruit.

What could a monk like him afford to give her?

Well, he couldn't even figure out how to earn a thousand gold pieces to buy a trinket! If he hadn't joined the group, he'd still be depending on alms to make ends meet. Not like Xan, who probably had resources for all things of luxury. Should such superficial, material things matter? The way Viconia kept stroking the amulet on her throat with a fond smile at Xan seemed to indicate so. That longing expression on Arquen's face from so far away sure seemed to indicate so.

"Sorry, sorry. I really shouldn't be ignoring you, Rasaad." Arquen finally peeled her eyes away from the scene and turned to him. She bounced the plum from one hand to the other, then held it up with a questioning look. "Did you come over just to give this to me?"

_I'd give her the moon, the sun, and the stars, if I could, _he'd said to Imoen. Suddenly that sounded like the silliest line he'd ever came up with.

"Yes, this is all I have for you," Rasaad told her, and meant it as an apology.

He left Arquen with the fruit and hurried away from the area. If she thought it inadequate, that gnawing feeling in his chest told him he'd rather not hear her say it.


End file.
